


The Seer's Weaving - Book One

by Carmen_Willow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Canon Universe Dragon Age 2, Canon Universe Post Dragon Age Awakening, F/M, Nathaniel Howe Romance, Non-Player Character Protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmen_Willow/pseuds/Carmen_Willow
Summary: Angharad, a peasant, a mundane healer, and the only healer still alive after the siege at Vigil's keep. A seeminly ordinary woman, Angharad has a carefully kept secret: she can see, not just with her eyes, but with her mind, and not just the here and now, but the past and the future.Her secret is uncovered when  Nathaniel Howe and his patrol return to the keep badly wounded. Events unfold that take Angharad and Nathaniel on a journey of discovery, danger and romance entertwined with the events of the Vigil, Kirkwall, and Denerim where an even larger secret about Anghard's past is revealed with the Hero of Ferelden's help.





	1. Chapter One-Vigil's Keep

# Chapter One

**Vigil’s Keep**

Angharad woke as dawn’s light streamed through the arrow slit in the stone of the Keep wall.  As she opened her eyes to stare at the smoke darkened ceiling of the still room in which she lay, she could hear the muffled sounds of the Keep folk beginning a new day.  Last night’s rain was ended, thank the Maker, and from the early light, she could at least hope for sunshine. Carefully, she rolled off the pallet she shared with Helen, the youngest kitchen maid.  Helen would have to get up soon enough and begin a long hard day of labor. _Let her sleep while she may,_ Angharad thought. _._  

Making her way to the rain barrel in the still empty courtyard, she took some water into a basin  and washed as much of her body as she could without damaging her modesty or reputation.

She turned to find Helen stretching as she stood in the doorway.  “I’m sorry if I woke you Helen.”

“You didn’t wake me, Saga. The sun did that, and it were a good thing too. Mistress would have my head if I were late with her water.” Helen moved to the rain barrel and filled her buckets to the brim balancing each of them  on the yoke.

“Do you want some help with those?”

“No, I can manage. Come to the kitchen in a little while, and I’ll give you some of the broken meats,” Helen replied as she hoisted the water onto her shoulders. She was a comely lass, rounded in all the right places and with hair the color of barley corn. Many a soldier at the Vigil had an eye for her, but as yet, Helen had settled on no one in particular. “Mistress won’t mind, not since you helped her with that rash.”

“I shall be there once I’ve seen to the garden,” Angharad replied. She stared after Helen, trying hard not to be envious of her friend. Where Helen’s hair was the color of the summer sun, her own was the color of a rabbit’s fur, not really brown and not really blonde. Helen’s eyes were a clear blue, and they sparkled.  No one had ever called Angharad’s eyes “sapphires,” as one suitor had when speaking of Helen. While Helen had a figure that men seemed to admire, Angharad’s was merely…ordinary. Not fat, not thin, just….ordinary. And then there was her face. Absently, Angharad’s fingers drifted to the thin scar that travelled the length of her cheek. Who would look at her damaged face when there were others, unblemished to be seen?  With an inward admonition against the sin of envy, she went inside the tent to gather her tools and then walked to what little remained of the herb garden.

The Keep, greatly damaged during the battle against the Mother’s horde, was finally beginning to look normal again. Voldrik, the Keep’s Master Builder and his men had removed the rubble from the wall breach, and others had torn down the charred huts. For some weeks, she and the other castle folk had subsisted by sleeping in every available nook and cranny of the castle’s halls. The Warden Commander was conscientious in caring for his peasants as well as his soldiers, thankfully. At his command, new cottages were being erected that would be finished in time for the winter rains. Voldrik had been in charge of that construction as well, and the workmanship was excellent, proving he could work in materials other than stone.  He had erected a sturdy stockade around the keep and the village while they waited for more granite to be quarried from the Wending Wood. Sadly, though, the gardens that supplied much of the fresh vegetables and herbs had been trampled during the fighting, and there was nothing Voldrik could do for that.

Though most of her plants were dead, Angharad was able to harvest some of the sage.  She tended those few precious living plants with the attention of a mother looking after her firstborn. Things would be bad enough this winter without turnips and carrots to store in the cellars. Herbs were the cornerstone to healing without magic, and she was determined to rebuild her stock before bad weather came. For now, she would have to make do with the nostrums and herbs she had left. There weren’t many. 

It was her desire to go to the Wending Wood to find seeds, starter plants, and some additional supplies to tide them over the winter. With the Seneschal dead, and no new one being named, she was uncertain as to whom she should apply for permission. No one in these times would enter the Wood alone unless they simply planned to die. Angharad would need men to go with her.

Angharad’s stomach growled, reminding her that she should go to the kitchen if she wanted to take advantage of Helen’s offer. She rose to her feet and brushed the dirt from her dress, placing her trowel in her apron pocket as she walked toward the servants’ passage. 

A commotion from the guards on the curtain wall drew her attention toward the front gates. Angharad could see a group of men making their way through the outer stockade. From their pace, she could tell that some of the men were injured, and one man was being supported by two others. Angharad went to her space and grabbed her medicine kit. As she approached the men, she saw that some wore the uniform of the Grey Wardens. Others were men-at-arms, local men who’d joined the Arl’s army.  

“Saga!” One called to her. “Hurry.”

She ran to them. Most were burned, although a cursory glance told her the burns were fairly mild. The man they were supporting, however, was dripping blood. Angharad recognized the Grey Warden as old Arl Howe’s son, Nathaniel. “Why has he been left to bleed like this?”  She demanded, “Where’s the healer? Where is Anders?”

“It were that damned mage that did this,” One of the men hissed. “Him and his damned fireballs.  He burned five men to a cinder, and we got caught in the blast as well.” The men continued to haul Nathaniel toward the Keep.

“The warden here tried to talk to that blighted mage, but that whoreson struck him with his staff blade and cut him deep. We grabbed the warden and ran for our lives. Maker only knows what became of the others.”

“Hurry then, get him inside,” Angharad said. She followed the men as they carried Nathaniel into the barracks and laid him on a hastily cleared table. To one of the men she knew, she said, “Jonas, tell the girls in the kitchen to bring me bandages, hot water, brandywine, honey and any moldy bread and cheese if there is some. The rest of you, get him out of his armor and then strip down yourselves so that I can see how badly you are wounded.”

The men did as she bid. Angharad pulled back Nathaniel’s lip. His gums were pale, but not white. _Good! They may have gotten him back in time,_ She thought to herself. She slapped his face lightly. “Nathaniel, wake up! Nathaniel!”     

His hand shot up to grasp her wrist. It hurt like hell-all, but when his eyes met hers he let go.

“Listen to me, Nathaniel,” Angharad said, as she began to cut his jerkin away.  “You are badly injured, and there is no mage to use a heal-spell.”  When he started to drift off, she grabbed his chin.  “ _Listen to me!”_ she demanded. When his eyes were focused on hers once more, she said, “I am going to have to stitch you closed, and it will hurt a great deal. You _must not strike me,_ Nathaniel.” 

He frowned and then nodded. 

Angharad removed the shreds of his jerkin and studied the wound. It was long and fairly deep, moving at an angle from his right hip bone to his lower left rib. Praying that he was the lucky sort, she studied the wound to see if it had opened his abdomen…Maker be praised…it had not. So the main issue was blood loss and the possibility of infection. The ladies started to appear with the supplies she had requested.  Pouring water into a basin, she added some of the brandywine and some antiseptic herbs. Taking her one and only needle from her kit, she dropped it into the water. She took thread that she had soaked in a special solution and dried in the sun and lay it beside the basin on a clean cloth. While she waited for the needle to be cleansed, she studied the other men’s wounds.

They were singed, but only one was burned badly enough to blister. To those who were in reasonably good condition she said, “I want you to bathe in cold water.”  She took a small bit of her precious soap from her pouch. “Go down to the river and submerge as much of your burn as you can in the water for as long as you can stand the cold. Wash yourselves well, and your clothing.” When she saw the look of disbelief on their faces, she grew stern. “If you come back from the river dirty, I shall report you to the Warden Commander.” For a moment she thought they were going to protest, but then one of the men shrugged, a silent signal of surrender that the others accepted and supported. 

“Yes, all right,” one of the men said.

“And send me two men who can hold the Captain still for me,” she demanded.

To the lad who had blisters on his face, Angharad said, “You are to bathe as well, but do not break open those blisters even though they hurt. They are the Maker’s way of protecting the injured skin beneath them.” The man looked rebellious. “Do you want to keep that pretty face of yours?” She asked him, touching her own cheek. “If you break the blisters, you could scar.” 

Angharad saw that Helen was one of the women who had come into help bring supplies.  “Now sirrah, go with Helen there, and she will help you wash around those blisters. Do as I bid, and you will stay handsome.”

As Helen and her charge went through the doorway, the two men she’d requested came in. Angharad took the needle from the basin and lay it on the clean cloth next to the thread.  Then she washed her own hands with soap, tossed the dirty water out onto the floor and refilled the basin with the same combination of herbs and brandy wine water. With this, and her soap, she scrubbed Nathaniel’s belly as best she could. He groaned and started to grab her once more but stopped. Thankful that he’d been listening, she continued washing him. When she was satisfied that Nathaniel’s belly was clean, Angharad threaded the needle. 

“Men, one of you take his legs; the other take his arms.” To Nathaniel she said, “This is going to hurt, messer, but then I expect you know that.” Before he could nod, she took her first stitch. His body tensed with the pain of it, but as Angharad knew from the scars he bore, he’d been through this process before. Ordinarily, she would have offered him brandy, but without knowing how much blood he had actually lost, she was unwilling to drug him at all until she had stopped the bleeding. As quickly as she could, she sewed him back together. The wound was deep enough to require that she stitch some muscle back in place as well as skin.  It was a slow, painful process.  Angharad needed to take care so that the scar would not hamper him in future combat.  She glanced at his face from time to time to gauge his condition. Except for the convulsive movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, he was conscious and making an effort to be still.

Finally, she was finished and tied off the last stitch. She gently scraped some of the blue-green mold from the cheese and bread into the honey and put this on the wound, along with clean cloths. Then she bound them in place with old cloth torn into strips for just such usage. As she bandaged him up, she felt Nathaniel relax. Yes, he was a veteran of wound treatment. “Would you care for some brandy, messer?” She asked.

“May I have water please? I need water.”

The man who had held Nathaniel’s arms now helped him sit up as Angharad poured some watered wine into a cup and handed it to Nathaniel. He drank deep. “You need to go to bed, messer,” Angharad said. 

“I need to report to the Commander,”

“Not now,” Angharad told him in brisk no nonsense tones.

“I--” Nathaniel started to say, but Angharad interrupted him. 

“Messer, the only place you are going is to a bed.”  She looked at the two men, who moved to Nathaniel’s side to support him. “To his bed, gentlemen, nowhere else.”  To Nathaniel, she said, “I will send the Warden Commander to you.  He can hear your report at your bedside.”

Nathaniel merely nodded.  Angharad suspected he was too worn out to argue further. Once the men had helped Nathaniel was out of the room, Angharad lost her confident posture.  She only hoped that the Warden Commander would not send her to a dungeon for presuming to order one of his officers about. With trepidation, she packed away her things and cleaned up the table on which she’d worked. Then she walked into the Keep to deliver the message to the Warden Commander as she had promised.

Quiet as she could, Angharad moved through the hall to the room where the Commander kept his office. She was not surprised to find him there, despite the fact that he was known to be a man of action. Seneschal Varel had died during the siege at the Keep. Varel, as Seneschal, had seen to the administration of the Arldom lifting many of the day-to-day burdens from the Commander’s shoulders. With Varel’s death, and with no replacement yet chosen, the Commander was doing double duty, seeing both to the military operations of the Vigil and the the administration of the Arldom. His head was bent over a tome, and he read and transcribed some of what he saw there on fresh parchment.

“My Lord?”  Angharad asked.

Etienne looked up from his work.  He studied her face, attempting to place her.  He was a man who tried to know who his people were.  His expression cleared.  “Yes Saga. What is it?”

“My Lord, there has been some trouble. Nathaniel Howe and some of the men returned injured from their last patrol. Anders is missing and the men say that it was he who caused it all.” 

The Commander stood up at once and moved toward the door.  “Where’s Nathaniel?” 

“I sent him to his bed, my lord. I had to stitch a nasty wound. He’d lost a great deal of blood.”

“Come, then.  Let’s go to him.” As they were walking toward the barracks, the Commander said, “Tell me more. How many men returned, and what were their injuries?”

“Five total, my lord and Captain Howe. They were all burned, though only one was blistered. Nathaniel Howe was sliced by a blade of some fashion.” Angharad was finding it hard to keep up with the Commander’s brisk step and to talk at the same time.

“That was a patrol of ten,” The Commander said, frowning as he continued to stride through the passageway of the Keep. He did not ask her more, thankfully, for she was out of breath by the time they reached the barracks and opened the door. 

Nathaniel was sound asleep in the bed was nearest the opening.  Angharad checked his pulse and his color and found both improved. Relieved, she looked inquiringly at the Commander, who shook his head.  “Let him rest. Where are the other men?”

“I sent them to the river to wash, my lord.”

The Commander’s eyebrows rose in disbelief.  Before he could say something, she added, “The water will cool the burns, and the washing will prevent infection, my lord.”

“I see. An interesting remedy to be sure. Very well. Stay with him, then, and send someone to me when he wakes. I shall go and speak to my newly cleaned patrol.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The Commander left and Angharad found a chair and pulled it to the bedside.  Her stomach rumbled, and she prayed that someone would come so that she could beg them to bring her something to eat.  Otherwise it was like to be a long, hungry day.

Author’s Note: With the exception of Saga, which in Old Norse means “Seer” the words I have used in this story to represent the “old language” are Welsh.  I did this because Angharad is a Welsh name that means “much loved.”  For those who speak this beautiful language, my apologies in advance if I have made any mistakes in translation.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel heals, discovers Angharad's psychic ability.

# Chapter Two

**Vigil’s Keep**

Nathaniel woke to a mouth that was dry and tasted of ashes. He tried to rise, but the burning pain that traversed his abdomen forced him down on his back once more. Looking around the room, his gaze rested on the woman sitting by his bed. She seemed vaguely familiar, apart from the fact that she’d seen to his wounds. Try as he might, he could not place her, however, and his failure nagged at him. Despite the scar that traveled her cheek, she was comely enough. She had even features and beautiful cheekbones that gave her character. Her eyes were somewhere between green and grey fringed with lashes that were a little darker than her hair. Nathaniel had gotten a good look at them as she’d put him back together. Yes, she seemed familiar. It was a puzzle.

His movement caught her attention, and she stood beside him, feeling his forehead, taking his pulse, very efficiently, he noted. “How long have I been out?”  He asked as he struggled to sit up. The woman quickly supported his back and helped him to a sitting position.

“Please don’t do that on your own for a day or two,” she scolded him. “You don’t want to rip those stitches out. I took a great deal of trouble to put you back together.” 

“Are you always this irascible?”  He asked, curious to find such an assertive tone coming from a peasant woman.

“Excuse me?”

“This surly?  This cross?” 

“I know what the word means, messer. I fail to see how I have been ill-tempered toward you. I’ve managed to keep you from bleeding to death and only wish to spare you the pain of re-stitching that wound.”

Nathaniel started to reply to this but decided that she would only take further conversation on the topic amiss.  He changed the subject. “Has the Warden Commander been told?”

“Yes, of course. I gave him what information I had, and he went to speak to the other men. I am to send someone to fetch him now that you are awake.”

“Please. I need to speak with him as quickly as possible,” Nathaniel said to her.    

The woman had acted quickly on his request; for moments later, the Warden Commander came into the room and shut the door behind him. He sat down in the chair the woman had vacated and said, “The men tell me that Anders has become an abomination. Is this true?”

Nathaniel started to shrug his shoulders but only managed to wince in pain. “Maker knows, he did not become some hideous monster as I’ve seen times past, but he began to glow blue and his voice…” Nathaniel stopped for a moment somewhat overcome by the memory. “…His voice sounded different. It was as if Justice was speaking through him.”

“And what of Justice? Was he there?” the Commander asked.

“He was on the patrol with us, but something happened between Anders and Justice. Kristoff’s corpse was lifeless; Justice was gone from it.  And, Anders began to glow… glow blue. Rolan accused Anders of being an abomination. Heated words were exchanged between them and then, there was blue fire, and people melted. Anders ripped Rolan’s head from his shoulders with his bare hands. “

 “I tried to intervene, but Anders picked up his staff and sliced me with it.” Nathaniel shook his head. “I’ve served with both Anders and Justice for months--nay more than a year--and I could swear it was as though I was a stranger to him.” 

“You are lucky to be alive, Nathaniel,” Etienne replied. “I suspect that Anders is possessed by our old companion now. Perhaps I was wrong to let Justice continue to inhabit Kristoff’s corpse those many months. But we were in dire straits, and he was a good fighter. Merde! It now seems that Anders and he have made a demon’s pact. Maker only knows what will come of this.” 

“It means that we have yet another serious problem on our hands.”

“We can add a possessed mage Warden to our list of woes, one that seems bent on following some personal agenda. The Chantry isn’t going to like this at all. They are still enraged that King Alistair allowed me to conscript Anders. And I thought defeating the Architect and the Mother would be the end of it. I thought we might have a little peace for a time.”

“It appears as though the trouble is only just beginning,” Nathaniel responded.  “So what do we do first?  We have no mage now. Anders and Velanna are both gone.”

“I shall write to Weisshaupt and request that a mage be transferred to our unit.” Etienne shrugged his shoulders and then smiled. “But it appears, my friend, that we may have a decent healer on hand. The men told me that Saga was quite competent. They admired her stitchery.  Said that she took her time to put you back together straight and true.”

“That remains to be seen.” Nathaniel glanced down at the bandages. “Who is she?”

Etienne gave him a puzzled look.  “Nathaniel, I am the new one here. This was your home for most of your life. It is you who should know the people on the lands your father ruled, not I. Ah, but then you have been away from your father’s former lands for some time. I suggest you ask the woman who she is. As I have asked her to tend to you until you are recovered, you should have time enough to discover her identity.”

“As you command. However it will be somewhat awkward for her as this is the men’s barracks….”

The Commander waved his objection away. “Easily remedied. You shall be moved to the room in the south solar. No one is using it, and the woman can tend to you without fear of harassment from the men. I suddenly find myself quite bereft of trusted companions, Nathaniel.  I should hate to lose you to poor nursing, mon amí.”

Nathaniel understood Etienne’s concerns. Sigrun was gone, presumably to the Deep Roads for an early calling. Velanna had vanished during the fight at the Vigil; her body was never found. Oghren remained, drinking himself to death in between going out on perilous patrols.

 “I think I am stronger than that, Commander,” Nathaniel said at last. But Etienne was already on his way.

-2-

Whether it was his own strength, or Angharad’s nursing skills, Nathaniel recovered quickly. By the time Angharad determined that his stitches could be removed, Nathaniel was more than ready to be back at the business of being a warden. He was still curious as to how Angharad came to live at the Keep, but he’d not had opportunity to truly talk to her. He pondered this as she sat him down in front of the kitchen fire to remove the stitches from his belly.

“There,” Angharad said, as she pulled the last thread from his skin. She smiled, satisfied that the scar would resolve to a small thin line. “It will be a fine scar and should not hamper your movement.”

Nathaniel studied the angry red line that crossed his abdomen. “A fine scar?”

“Oh yes. It will need some weeks to grow thin and white, but judging from your earlier scars, you should do well enough.”

“And how may I thank you, mistress?” Nathaniel asked her. He expected an acerbic retort, but instead was met by a startled smile that she quickly hid by turning away.

“There is no need,” Angharad said quietly, but then she turned back to him and said, “There is one thing. Can you…is it allowed for you to tell me what became of Anders?” 

Nathaniel frowned as he sorted through what truth could be told and what must remain unsaid. “He deserted the Wardens.” It occurred to Nathaniel that perhaps the woman and Anders had been involved. His friend was known as a ladies’ man. “Did he mean something to you?  Were you and he—“

Angharad laughed in disbelief. “Anders? The Warden for whom all the ladies pined?  The Warden who broke more hearts in a week than any other man here in a year? Involved with me? Why would he be? There are so many other, beautiful, women here.” Another soft laugh escaped her.” No, we were not involved. He was teaching me what he knew about medicines and herbs. His training at the Circle was so much more complete than what mama had taught me that I was thrilled when he agreed to share his expertise with me. Anders has a great knowledge of herb lore.”

“I doubt we will see him again at the Vigil. He murdered some of the men making his escape,” Nathaniel told her.

“Oh Maker! He listened to that demon then. Oh Andraste, have mercy!”

Nathaniel took her arm and turned her round to face him. “What do you know of demons? Did Anders ever seem possessed to you?” 

“No, I know nothing of demons!” Angharad answered attempting to pull away.

Nathaniel still held onto her arm and unconsciously squeezed. “But what do you know of Anders?”

Angharad looked down at his hand.  Her breathing quickened; then, she stiffened as though hit by lightning. Her back arched, her neck arched, and Nathaniel grabbed her waist to keep her from falling. Nathaniel watched in amazement as her hazel eyes grew green as though lit from within. She relaxed, eyes fixed, pupils dilated. Then, she spoke,

“He shall carry the Sword of Justice in his right hand.

Thus, shall he wield it.

On the innocent and guilty.  With infernal fire. With sound and fury.

He shall carry Death’s scythe in his left hand. Famine and terror shall be his harvest.

All shall taste Vengeance, the bitter taste of Rue and Wormwood.

Thus, shall he be ended.

By murder knife in the hand of a friend.

 

Angharad’s eyelids fluttered shut and she slipped from his grasp to the ground.

 

Nathaniel splashed a goodly quantity of water in her face and slapped her wrists until she moaned and finally opened her eyes.

“Oh Maker,” she whispered.  Nathaniel helped her to sit up.

“What in Andraste’s name was that?” Nathaniel demanded, his fear making him sound angry.

“I’m going to be sick!” Angharad scrambled to her feet and ran out into the courtyard where she promptly lost what little remained in her stomach. By the time Nathaniel caught up with her, she was rinsing the foul taste from her mouth.

“Saga, tell me what just happened.” Nathaniel said standing ready to keep her from sprinting off once more. She started to shake. Nathaniel recognized this. There were times when a battle ended quickly that men would shake as though freezing. Whatever caused this in the soldier was at work in her now. It would pass.  He led her back into the summer kitchen and forced her down onto a stool. 

“Tell me what just happened,” Nathaniel repeated, calm now.

Angharad’s shoulders slumped. “Captain, what does “saga” mean?” she asked him.

He frowned. Before he could ask her what her name had to do with anything she continued. “In the _old_ language, what does _saga_ mean?”

“Seer.” Nathaniel said at last, as the old Avaarr language flitted through his mind.  “Prophet.”                  “Like the fletcher, named for his skill at arrow-making, and the thatcher who repairs the roof, my father called me his little saga, because I so frequently found lost things for him.” Angharad held her head in her hands as she hunched on the stool. “It was simpler than my true name and so everyone began to call me thus. I have the Sight.  I know things that will come to pass, though I never know when or where the knowledge will come. Neither can I control what I say when the Sight comes over me. And I always get sick. Always.”

Angharad looked so forlorn that Nathaniel lay a comforting hand on her back.  “Why are you not in the Circle?”

She rounded on him furiously.  “I am no mage,” she spat out, “I cannot set you on fire with my mind, nor paralyze you with glyphs drawn with a staff. I may tell, I may warn, but I am allowed nothing more. I only know. _I only know that which I am permitted to know._ ”

Nathaniel pulled up a stool for himself and sat down with her. “Then let us start from the beginning. Tell me first your true name and how you came to the Vigil.”

“Not here, messer,” Angharad said, looking about. The kitchen was growing busy again as the hour drew closer to midday.

“Then let us go to the chapel,”

Angharad nodded her assent and they walked the halls to the chapel, empty at this hour. Angharad slipped into a pew and Nathaniel sat beside her. Calmed by the smell of burning candle wax and incense, She took a slow, deep breath.

“My name is Angharad. I was born in Ferelden, though my father is Avaar from the Frostback Mountains, and my mother is from Orlais. My father was a farrier who left his homeland to make his fortune in Val Royeaux. An Orlesian noble who thought highly of my father’s work was ordered to Ferelden.” Angharad smiled. She remembered the pride in her father’s voice as he told the tale of how she came to be born in Ferelden. “The Noble asked my father to come as a part of his retinue.  It seemed a good opportunity, and so my parents came. They lived for many years in Ferelden. But then King Maric and Loghain successfully drove the Orlesians away. Stranded, and too poor and too used to Ferelden life to make the long journey to Orlais or to my father’s people, my parents took to the traveling. We journeyed from keep, Papa caring for the war horses, Mama selling herbs and medicinals. Between the two of them, we earned our daily bread and put aside enough to winter in a town.” Angharad closed her eyes and for a moment or two she could see Papa and Mama sitting beside one another in the wagon, singing Orlesian ballads as they traveled the road.

“Go on.” Nathaniel sat beside her, listening to her tale as he stared at the candles.

“We traveled this way for some years, but when I was fourteen, Mama became ill. It was the white lung.  When we reached Amaranthine, Mama was too weak to travel further. So Papa looked for work to keep us fed.” Angharad gave Nathaniel a look. “Your father, Arl Howe, came to the city one market day and his horse threw a shoe. My father was the one to repair it.  Your father was impressed by the work and my father’s ability to handle his volatile destrier. He asked my father to come to the Vigil.”

“I remember!” Nathaniel said eagerly. “Yes. I remember. It was a month or so before I left for the Marches. My mabari bitch bore a litter of puppies. I came in to check on her and found you petting them.”  Nathaniel laughed softly at the memory. “You were a small skinny gel then. Your braids the color of a hind, and your feet were bare, but I remember your eyes. On that day, they were quite green.”

“You were angry, because you had promised every pup to friends.  You were afraid the puppies would imprint on me. You yelled,” Angharad reminded him.

“I did. I _was_ angry.  But when I started to yell at you, you looked so hurt…”

“You stopped screaming at me. And then, you took the pup I held and explained about the mabari, and why I must not play with them,” Angharad finished for him.

He just stared at her for a moment, lost in the memory. Skinny gel, frightened at first, but then intent as he told her about the mabari. He remembered the intelligence in her eyes, her compelling, green eyes, and he remembered the perceptive questions she’d asked.

“And then you left, and a few months later, Mama died. I thought that my father would wish to travel once more, but he decided we would stay. The Sister who tended the chapel was teaching me to read languages. Your sister, Delilah, gave me some of her old dresses to make over. I was happy to stay and wake up in the same place each day. I believe Father realized that I needed some stability for a time.”

Angharad stood up and moved toward the altar. “I had always _known_ things, little things such as where to find Mama’s scissors, or who had stolen the honey from the kitchen. But around the time of my mother’s death, I began to truly _know._ ” Her expression grew haggard. “I began to have visions, terrible visions of places and people I never knew existed. In the visions, I walked the Deep Roads with Endrin’s middle child, crying for a murdered brother and swearing vengeance on the brother who betrayed the family. I saw him rescued by Grey Wardens only to die at Ostagar. And I knew that your sister, Delilah, would never marry the Cousland boy, but would bear a healthy son to a man who was not noble. Then your father began his descent into depravity. Varel the seneschal, refused to commit the acts your father demanded so your father demoted and then imprisoned him.”

Angharad paused and took another deep breath. She turned to look at the statue of Andraste, standing with the flame of eternity in her hands, seeking strength for what she had yet to say.  “The Arl was gone for some months but had returned briefly to the Keep to gather his vassals. I was serving at the high table when the Arl grabbed my arm to pull me onto his lap. When your father’s hand touched my arm, the Sight came over me. It was as you saw it today. I could not stop it; I could not change what had to be said.” Angharad closed her eyes and repeated the words she had spoken then:

 “The betrayal will avail you nothing.

In a stolen dungeon shall you perish. 

Your name shall be anathema.

All that you have will pass to the Griffons.”

“Enough!” Nathaniel said quietly.

Angharad turned from the statue of Andraste toward him with a look of compassion on her face. “Your father drew his knife to slay me. He was drunk, however, and missed my throat, though not without marking me. Before he could swing again, my father came from out of nowhere and leapt across the table. The Arl beat my father to death in the sight of his company that night.”

Nathaniel made a strangled sound in his throat and gestured with his hand as though he was pushing her words away.

Despite his obvious pain, Angharad continued speaking. “And then he beat me and left me for dead as well. Your father traveled to Highever the next morning to betray the Teyrn. We never saw him again. I suppose he assumed that I had died, for he left no instructions regarding my execution.”

“And yet you remained at the Keep. Why did you stay?” Nathaniel asked, decidedly pale but clearly in control of his emotions.

“And why should I not? Your sister was good to me. It was she who tended me as I recovered from the beating. Your brother, who could have turned me out into the world, did not do so.  I had a place to sleep, and food to eat, and work to do. In time, the folk here began to trust my herb lore, my healing skills, and my stitching. And then, your father was dead, and the land given to the Grey Wardens.”

Nathaniel rose from the bench. “My father was not always so evil.”

Angharad walked toward him and stood close. “I know, Messer. I remember his kindnesses. He was not always so cruel. And I remember the look of sadness on his face as you rode away to be fostered in the Marches. He truly loved you.”

Her words seemed to open a door in Nathaniel’s heart. “I do not understand Angharad, I do not!  My father was ambitious, always. But this evil, loathsome man that I hear described by others. The traitor who murdered his overlord and his overlord’s family, the traitor who sent assassins after the Hero of Ferelden; I do not know that man.”

The pain in his voice took every thought away from Angharad save to ease his agony. She touched his arm and leaned close.  “Messer, can you not feel it?  The Blight was only the beginning! The Blight was the harbinger, the signal that the tide of history is turning. Many will be swept away in the current.”  She touched his face with her other hand. “Your father was caught in the rip and did not have the strength to swim out. Whatever demon he held chained inside him broke loose and ate his soul. But you are not your father, Nathaniel. You are strong in the right, and…” Suddenly aware that she had overstepped her place, she dropped her hands and blushed.

The image she invoked of the rip current was very real to Nathaniel.  Amaranthine, the largest city in the Arling, stood on the coast. There were many summers when his family would go on progress and spend time by the shore. One of the first things his father taught him was how to discern a rip current and how to avoid being drowned in one. _Caught in the rip_ , Nathaniel thought to himself. _Yes caught and carried away._ As the emotional pain eased, he thought on what else she’d said.  It was true. The Blight was only the beginning. Events were occurring that had been foretold long ago. Things that only a few members of a few organizations knew about were coming to pass. He turned back to Angharad. “You must tell the Commander what you told me.  About Anders.  About the times.”

“No.  Please I do not want to do this,” Angharad said quietly.

Nathaniel, however, was determined. “I cannot tell you why I know you speak the truth, Angharad, but I know that you do. The Wardens know whereof you speak. We also sense that we are at a crisis point in time. Like you, we have a small bit of knowledge, but it isn’t enough.” His expression was tense, almost anxious. “You must share what you know.”

Angharad bowed her head in dismay. Telling the Commander meant revealing her secret. The night that the Arl had almost beaten her to death, few had heard the words that passed between them.  Those that did were too drunk to understand the implications. Howe had been beating his servants for months before that night. Few thought anything of it. Angharad had been able to remain in the background of the Keep’s daily life thankful for the shadows that kept her ordinary. He was asking her to step into the sunlight.  As much as she wished to remain anonymous and unknown save to a small few, Angharad also knew that all of Thedas was balanced on the knife-edge of Fate. Something was coming. Something that would change everything. And it would be wonderful or terrible, but nothing would remain as it was now.  

“As you will, messer,” She said at last.


	3. The Vigil

# Chapter Three

**The Vigil**

Angharad followed Nathaniel to the Warden Commander’s office and waited outside while he and Nathaniel spoke in private.  After some moments, Nathaniel came out to fetch her. The Commander pointed to one of the chairs and nodded, giving her permission to sit. 

The Crown had given the Grey Wardens Rendon Howe’s Arldom as a reward for stopping the Blight. Not everyone agreed with this decision, particularly when the Warden Commander who was sent to rule the Arldom turned out to be an Orlesian. Angharad wondered many times about how Nathaniel felt about being a mere subordinate on lands that had once belonged to his family, lands he had been destined to inherit. She wondered now as she waited for the Warden Commander to speak.

“And how is my Warden healing?” Etienne inquired as he rolled up a scroll and pushed other papers into a pile. “Does he need further ministrations, or can he return to his duties and the barracks?”

“He is healed, my lord and is fit for duty,” Angharad replied.

Etienne glanced up at Nathaniel. “Then return to your duties, Warden Captain,”

“As you command, my lord.” Nathaniel pivoted smartly and left the room.

Once the door was closed, the Commander said to her. “My captain tells me that you have been living in our midst under an alias. Is this so?”

“It is more of a pet name, my lord. One my father gave me long ago.” 

“As I recall it means _one who sees_. And do you _see_ , ma demoiselle?”

Certain that Nathaniel had given a full report of what had occurred, Angharad merely said, “Not consistently.” 

Etienne stood up and moved from behind the desk to the chair opposite her. He sat down next her. “Nathaniel was quite concerned about what you said regarding Anders. Please tell me what you know of it.”

“He is no longer Anders, my lord. He has allowed the spirit you called Justice to possess him. Nathaniel’s near encounter with death is only the beginning of the chaos and misery Anders will visit on us all, not the least himself.” She shook her head sadly. 

“Can you give me more details, ma demoiselle?”

Angharad repeated the words that had come to her verbatim. Unlike ordinary memories, those that came from her gift were permanently etched into her brain. “Forgive me messer, I don’t always _see_ what is to happen. I just know what is to happen.”

“Is there any way to prevent these events?” Etienne asked her bluntly.

“The chance to stop this was lost the moment Anders allowed Justice into him. The path is chosen. It is one we all must now walk.”

Etienne rubbed the stubble on his jaw line as he mused over her words.  Finally he shrugged his shoulders and said, wearily, “What we cannot prevent, we must survive. We must put our resources where they will do the most good. If I understand you, sirrah, seeking to find Anders would be a waste of our time.” Etienne looked to her for confirmation. 

Angharad gave a short nod.

 “And yet, we must still act as though there is a chance to prevent him from doing whatever it is that he plans to do. I will send word to the Templars in Denerim, and we will continue to move forward with other pressing matters.”

“Send word to Kirkwall,” Angharad stated staring hard at the floor, “and to Val Royeaux.”

“Etienne could not help but smile. This woman was a very odd mixture of deference and command.  “What else do you know, Saga?”  He asked her quietly.

“I have had no true vision of anything except Anders for some time, my lord, but I know this:  Anders, is the small pebble that dislodges a landslide.”

“Mon Crèatuer!” Etienne studied the woman’s face, hoping to see signs of deception there. It was clear to him, however, that Angharad believed she spoke the truth. “Tell me more about your gift, Saga. Describe it to me.”

Angharad tucked her chin onto her palm as she tried to form the words that could describe an experience that most would never understand. Finally she said, “It is not always the same. There are times when I _see_ things. When that happens it is as if I am standing right there, watching events, hearing words. But that does not happen often. It is very rare for me to _see_ what is to come. More often, I just _know_. I know the way that one knows the sky is blue. It just is. No visions, no pictures. The words just come. I do not choose them.”

“My captain tells me that he was touching you when you began to speak, and that the night you were beaten, the Arl had also touched you. Is this a necessary part of it?” The Commander asked her.

Angharad looked at the Commander once more and nodded. “It can often be triggered by touch, yes. But sometimes…sometimes it just comes.”

“And the nausea?”

“Yes. It makes me sick to my stomach,” Angharad replied. “Not the little knowings, not little things. Not being able to find something lost. That is different.’

Etienne touched her hand. “You are saying that in addition to seeing future events or knowing future events, you also _find lost things_?”

Angharad nodded. “Yes.”

“Mon Crèateur!” He exclaimed. “Ce que nous allons faire avec vous?”

“I do not know what you should do with me, my lord. I hope…I hope you will not dismiss me sir. I should like to stay here at the Vigil.” 

A little embarrassed that he had assumed she spoke no Orlesian, the Commander shook his head.  “Of course you shall not be dismissed, sirrah. I do ask that if you are to remain with us that you accept being under the command of the Wardens. I cannot, for various reasons, formally induct you into the order. But I must have your assurance that you will do as the order instructs. Can you make that promise? 

“Of course, Commander. I should like to assist your cause.”

“Very well, then. As of this moment, you are an associate of the Wardens. Before I dismiss you, I would speak to you about your duties at the Vigil. We have no healer to tend to our men. I have asked that a healing mage be transferred to our unit, but it may be a long wait. They are in short supply. Would you be willing to take on this task for a time? “

“I am not a mage, my lord. I have no heal-spells,” Angharad began.

“That I know, sirrah, but you brew healing potions, yes? And tend injuries? You already see to the castle folk if the gossips are to be believed. I merely ask that you tend to my soldiers as well.” Etienne said. To his surprise, she did not immediately consent. 

“If I am to do this, my lord, then I must have more herbs and more plants. Our herb garden was destroyed in the siege. I need to go to the Wending Wood to gather them, and I cannot go alone.”  

“Indeed not. The Wood is less dangerous than it used to be, but it is still dangerous.” Etienne rose from the chair and moved back to his desk. “I must go to Denerim for the Landsmeet and will be gone for some weeks. Nathaniel is healed as you say, but this task would be an excellent first assignment after such an injury. I will have him form a party to accompany you to the Wood.” He smiled at her. ‘You may go now, sirrah.”

Angharad stood but did not immediately depart. “My lord, may I ask a question?”

Etienne nodded.

“I am only a servant, my lord. And yet, when I say to you that one of your Wardens is an abomination and will wreak havoc on all peoples, you not only fail to beat me for my insolence, you act on my words and give me greater responsibility. May I ask why?”

“You may ask, sirrah.” Etienne looked up from his papers.  “I will only say that I was told to expect you. And, here you are.” He returned his gaze to the work on his desk. “Now, go.”

Angharad started to leave the room and stopped. She turned back to the Commander. “My lord, it fell between the wall and your bed. If you move the bed you will find it.”

“Pardon?” Etienne asked her.

“The letter from Giselle, my lord. It slipped between the wall and your bed when you fell asleep.”

“Mon Créateur!” Etienne exclaimed softly as she walked out the door.

Etienne took out his report to Weisshaupt, the main headquarters for the Grey Wardens.  He continued writing:

_As was foretold, the seer has made herself known to us, though it is doubtful that her gift will turn the tide of events. Her talent is very wild and untrained. I would suggest that we find a mentor for her as quickly as possible. For the moment, though, she is a competent hedge doctor, and we are in need of someone who can heal the sick and dress wounds. It is this talent that is most valuable to the Vigil at this time._

_I proceed to Denerim. As you commanded, I shall make no attempt to insert myself into the politics of Ferelden unless something arises that affects the Arling directly. Otherwise I shall hold my own counsel. No one knows more than I how delicate this situation is. We must make certain that the Banns and Arls will have no reason to fear us. We do not want to be banished from Ferelden another time. Our meager presence in Ferelden was a weakness that was used to full advantage by the Archdemon in the last Blight. It shall not happen again._

_Etienne Caron, Warden Commander_

_Vigil’s Keep_

That night when he returned to his quarters, the Commander moved his bed away from the wall. There, exactly as the woman had told him, was the letter from Giselle. 

  * \--§



Before he left for the Landsmeet, the Commander announced Angharad’s new position as the castle apothecary and surgeon. He appointed Conor Morgan as the new Seneschal and named Nathaniel as the Warden Captain in Charge. He left strict instructions as to the nature of their duties and directions for the expedition to the Wending Wood. Nathaniel was to escort Angharad there, but he was also to carry supplies to the miners who were gathering ore and to the quarrymen working the granite. The Keep needed both materials to rebuild what they had lost, and the men who produced the materials needed to be fed and clothed.

Angharad was also given permission to occupy Anders’ old workroom in the Keep.  After the hallways, the small workroom seemed like heaven, particularly since it had room for a bed. When Angharad asked Helen if she would like to share the space, Helen demurred. Whether Helen’s reluctance grew from the simple fact of Angharad’s rise in station, or if rumors had already begun about her “gift, Angharad did not know and did not seek to know. Sometimes it was easier to be ignorant.

To get ready for their journey, Angharad prepared wooden flats that were deep enough to hold young plants, but light enough to lift and transport in a cart. Because of the war with the Orlesians, the Blight and the civil war that took place between Loghain’s forces and the Therin adherents, most of Ferelden’s horses were dead or blighted. The cart would be pulled by oxen, and it would be a slow, uncomfortable journey. 

Ten days before they were due to set out, Angharad was at work in her room. She heard the sound of someone approaching and looked up in time to see Nathaniel in the doorway. He was dressed casually, in homespun shirt and trousers like those the workmen wore. “Good day, Captain,” Angharad said and she looked up from her mortar and pestle. “How may I assist the Captain in Charge?” She teased. The word of the men in the Keep—gossips all—was that Nathaniel was not particularly pleased to be put in command. Angharad suspected that this reluctance derived more from his natural reserve rather than an unwillingness to lead troops.

“I must ask you a few questions, Angharad.” He stood on the opposite side of her worktable facing her.

When he said her name, her hand went, unthinking to her hair. Embarrassed that her first thought was how she looked, she blushed and dropped her hand to her side. “Ask what you will, and I will do my best to answer you.”

Nathaniel began to toy with her mortar and pestle, but before she could protest he set it back down again, and took up a potion she had bottled. He set that down as well, but before he could move on to things that were better left in place, Angharad said, “Come, and let us walk outside. I need fresh air.”

Nathaniel followed her out into the courtyard, filled with workmen busy at their tasks. “What is it you need to know, Captain?” She asked when he reached her side. They began to walk in a meandering circle around the courtyard.

The simple activity seemed to help Nathaniel collect his thoughts. “I am concerned that we are traveling into bandit country. It is entirely possible that we will come under attack. For this reason, I need to know if you have any skill with small arms. Your ability or inability to assist in our defense will help determine how many men-at-arms will accompany us.”

“My father taught me some tricks with a knife. I’ve used it a time or two to frighten away drunken men. But I have never seen combat, nor have I ever had to defend my life in earnest.”

Nathaniel’s eyebrows knit together in a frown. Angharad could almost hear the internal argument taking place inside Nathaniel’s skull. Finally, he turned to her. “I need an objective assessment of your level of combat skills or lack thereof.  Are you willing to work with my sergeant in this?”

“Of course, Captain.  I should not like to be a burden on this journey. What would you have me do?”

“Find Tomas, the sergeant at arms. I want him to evaluate your level of competence with a knife.”

“As you wish, Captain. When shall I do this?” 

“Now would be a good time, sirrah, we have very little time left,” Nathaniel replied sharply.

 She turned away from him to do as he bid, when he called after her.

“Angharad, come here.” She returned to his side and waited for him to speak. He hesitated and swallowed. Angharad wondered why he was so uncomfortable. “Have you something less…less feminine to wear?” He asked finally. Loose trousers perhaps?  A shirt and vest? Sturdy boots?”

“I can find something like that to wear, Captain.” 

“Good. Change into them if you will. It will be less _distracting_ ,” He said before walking away.

Stunned to realize that he even saw her as a woman, Angharad stood like a fool, paralyzed by the implications of his remark. The clang of the smithy’s hammer made her jump, freeing her to go on her way. 

She hurried to her workroom where she now slept, and found the clothing left from her father that she thought would suit Nathaniel’s purpose. Her father had been a small man, and the physical work had kept him lean. His clothes were loose on her but not so much that she could not wear them.  The boots were hers; they had been made for her just before her mother died. Thankfully, they still fit. Angharad braided her hair and tucked it under a cap.  Then she took her father’s favorite knife, along with its sheath and bound it to her waist.  Satisfied that she had done her best to hide her “femininity” she went in search of Tomas.

Tomas, the sergeant at arms was a man in his forties. He had been a handsome enough man in his youth, but years of combat had taken their toll both in battle scars and in wounds less visible. He wore the expression common to men for whom combat was their livelihood. Easily startled, quick to react to small changes, and seemingly hardened to most emotions, he was a consummate warrior. He was drilling his newest recruits and giving them a hard time of it when she approached. Before Angharad could speak, Tomas, said, “I know why you’re here, and I’ll see to you in a minute.  Wait by the archway over there.”

Angharad waited in growing trepidation as he harried and hectored his recruits into a reasonable semblance of a fighting unit. While she understood the necessity of the harsh language and treatment, she did not relish the idea of being on the receiving end of it. One of the recruits who made a mistake ended up catching the flat of the sergeant’s shield across his cheek. “There’s a good bashing for you,” He growled at the man who was now lying on the ground. “The next time you miss that block, I’ll use the edge and smash the side of your face in, boy.” He pulled the man to his feet. “Now go. All of you. GO!”

The men hurried out of the practice yard.

Tomas looked at Angharad and gestured, pointing to the center of the practice yard.  When she reached the spot, he said, “Show me your weapon, gel.” Angharad pulled out her father’s knife and handed it to the sergeant. He looked it over and tossed it over by the wall. “It won’t do! The pommel is too large for you.”  He disappeared into his armory and returned a moment later.  He handed her a plain knife with a longish blade and a small pommel. “Hold it,” He told her.

Angharad took the blade into her hand.

“Now, show me,” Tomas demanded, pulling out a knife of his own.

It took him less than thirty seconds to disarm her and land her flat on her back.

 “Again,” he demanded. Thirty seconds or so later, she was back in the dirt with his knife at her throat. The third time they tried, Tomas knocked the blade from her hand with a blow so hard it made her arm go numb.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said at last. “Keep the blade. Maker knows, if you draw it, your enemy may stumble and fall on the damned thing. But, I wouldn’t suggest that you try to actually _fight_ anyone.”

Humiliation flooded Angharad’s cheeks with blood.

In a kinder tone, Tomas said, “There now, lass, not everyone is meant for combat. The Maker has a place for us all. Let’s have a look at what you can do with a bow.”

Angharad did better with the bow than with the knife. She had a good eye, and by the end of two hours was hitting the target with some consistency. Tomas finally let her go. “Keep the bow, and keep practicing. In a decade or so, you may be of some use.”

Angharad retrieved her father’s knife from the dirt and walked to her workroom. She held back the tears of frustration and humiliation until she entered the room and shut the door. At first, she tried to take up her potion making again, but her embarrassment was so acute that she couldn’t think of the recipe she’d been making. _You failed!_ Her inner voice berated.  She began to cry. Pulling the cap from her head, she used it to soak up the tears.

  * \--§



Nathaniel stopped by the armory to speak with Tomas about Angharad.

“The gel is willing enough, but I wouldn’t count on her being able to actually help in a fight. She’s months away from ever doing more than getting herself killed, Captain.”

“That is unfortunate. Until she can become competent in self-defense, she will be a liability in a small unit.”

“Oh aye, Captain. It means extra soldier or two on patrol.” As Nathaniel started to walk away, Tomas said, “You may want to check on her, Captain. She was very upset when she left. She tried not to let it show. More than I can say for some of the boys and girls we train. Oh, and she did well enough with a bow. In time, she could become an effective archer.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Nathaniel replied.

Nathaniel walked to Angharad’s workshop. He was going to knock but heard the sound of weeping and simply went inside. Angharad stood hunched over her cap, crying. When she heard him approach, she turned her back to him and gestured with her arm. “Go away!” She demanded.

“No,” he replied shortly. Nathaniel debated whether it would be better to be sympathetic or if the cold, rational approach would be better. _No time like the present to find out._ Aloud, he said, “Did you honestly think would you be able to best my sergeant at arms?” He asked her. “Did you think that because your father showed you a trick or two, you knew how to melee with a knife? Really?”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her around. She kept her eyes on the ground. He said to her, “Angharad, I spent weeks being tossed face down in the dirt before my father’s master at arms deemed me ‘not completely hopeless.’ Each and every day, I train with my bow.  _Each and every day_ , I train, unless I am in the field. What were you hoping to achieve?”

“I just hoped to not be terrible. I don’t like to fail.”

“No one likes to fail, sirrah, but failure can teach us as much as success does.” He turned to go. “We leave in ten days. Be certain you are ready for the trip. And be sure to bring the bow, Tomas gave you.  I expect you to learn how to use it.” With that, he was gone.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

# Chapter Four

**The Wending Wood**

The party traveling to the Wending Wood ended up being more cumbersome than Nathaniel expected or desired. The supplies for the mines and provision for the parties took two carts instead of one. When word spread to the city that the Wardens were preparing to journey into the Wending Wood, the merchants who traveled the route on a regular basis demanded their right to travel with Nathaniel’s group for security’s sake. Thus, the party became a caravan of five carts and a multitude of men.

Nathaniel considered increasing the armed guard, but this would mean increasing the provisions that they would need to take, which could increase the number of carts, which would require more drivers, and require more guards. In the end, he kept the number of guards at six, including himself. He was counting on the fact that the merchants’ drivers were often as experienced in combat as his men at arms.

The caravan arrived at the Vigil midweek. Two mornings after their appearance, the entire group set off on the Pilgrim’s way toward the Wood. Nathaniel sent two scouts out on foot to look for signs of marauders or any other sort of trouble. For the first few hours, Nathaniel was completely occupied with simply keeping the caravan moving forward at a reasonable pace. Finally, after much shouting, cursing, whining, talking, discussing, and arguing, everyone seemed to settle down and get on with the business of travel.

The fact that Angharad was a veteran traveler was immediately apparent to Nathaniel. She’d overseen the packing of the carts the Wardens were bringing, and they were a model for cramming the greatest amount of provisions into the least amount of space. She had on her sturdy boots, homespun clothes, and she carried a pack on her back along with a small knife at her side. A cap was rolled and tucked into a tight loop at the top of the rucksack as though made for it, and a pewter cup was tied firmly to the pack as well. As they traveled down the road, Angharad would pull herself up onto the buckboard of the moving wagons with a fluid grace that bespoke her experience on the road. She spoke easily with the drivers who seemed to accept her entirely. Angharad was in her element and appeared to enjoy every minute of the day.

Nathaniel’s scouts reported back to him within the time he had expected. He sent two more men out ahead with instructions to report back to the location where they would camp that evening. So far, all was well, but a caravan of this size loaded with goods was bound to have drawn the attention of bandits and others who would covet the plunder seized in a successful raid. Nathaniel was glad that Angharad had taken his advice about clothing to heart. A young woman sold for a minimum of one hundred gold in the Tevinter Imperium. A woman with a trade would be worth even more.

The caravan reached the campsite an hour or so before dusk. It was a common stopping place. It concerned Nathaniel, but there were good reasons for camping there. Fresh water in the form of a clear flowing stream nearby was the best reason, and there was a clearing that sat on an easy rise above the stream. The small elevation and the flowing water’s sound made it difficult for invaders to breach the camp unseen. 

One of the two scouts he’d sent out on patrol was waiting for them when they arrived. But his other man was nowhere to be seen. Nathaniel casually walked about the camp, in what he hoped was a nonchalant fashion. As he said hello to the drivers, however, he told them to be prepared for trouble this night. In between the banter, in a softer voice, he quickly outlined a battle plan. The men smiled and nodded as though sharing a joke with him, but the words were serious and to the point. The drivers had the same sense of danger as he did. 

By the time he had walked the camp, Angharad had made the fire and was cooking the meal for those from the Vigil. It was a stew, as so many camp meals were, but it smelled delicious. The growl in Nathaniel’s stomach reminded him that he’d only eaten jerky at midday. The off-duty Vigil soldiers were already seated by the fire, drinking wine mixed with fresh water from the stream. They talked easily among themselves as they watched Angharad tend their meal. 

 In a normal voice, he complimented Angharad on her cooking and asked for seconds. Quietly, he added, “We are being watched, Angharad.  Stay alert and be ready to get under the cart if we are attacked.”

Angharad nodded but she smiled and said, “I am glad the stew is to your liking, Captain. Was it the aroma that caught your attention?”

Nathaniel almost laughed at that. Yes, he could smell the bandits. Obviously they neither washed nor had studied the concepts of upwind and downwind. “In part,” he replied. “Indeed your stew has a fine aroma to it and it is good tasting as well.” He finished his stew and handed his plate to Angharad. Then he casually walked into the shadows. 

A few moments later, under cover of dark, he and two of his best men headed toward the area he suspected the bandits were occupying. Nathaniel swung in a wide arc to the left, sending his two men to the right. The moon had not yet risen, and the shadows were deep. Nathaniel waited patiently until his eyes adjusted. Then he slowly moved forward, taking care to sense what was beneath his feet before putting his weight down. Soon, he was aided by the moonrise and was able to move with more confidence.

The bandits were hunkered down in a stand of trees and brush over one hundred yards away from the camp. He counted perhaps fifteen men. Most of them were lightly armored in leathers. He glanced to where his men were to be and saw faint movement. Taking his bow and an arrow in hand, he waited patiently until the bandits began to move. The sound they made covered his own as he stood to shoot. He nocked an arrow and let it fly, taking down one of the men. The bandits near him began to look around; however, as soon as the arrow flew, he sprinted to his left and shot another arrow. The bandit let out a soft grunt but was otherwise silent as he fell. His men were firing and maneuvering as he had instructed them. None took more than five shots, and neither did he. Once his fifth arrow was embedded in an unlucky bandit, he began to run noisily toward the camp. His men were running as well and soon they were being followed by angry marauders, yelling and cursing, eager to catch the three running men.

Nathaniel and his men were ten feet away from the center fire when his two remaining men closed the trap on the ambush. The men-at-arms who remained in camp sprang from behind wagons and attacked from each side while the caravan drivers charged from the front, knives and clubs in hand. Nathaniel tossed his bow onto one of the wagons and drew a dagger from its sheath.

Spinning around, he held the dagger’s pommel at chest height, the blade level. The man who was chasing him could not stop before Nathaniel was able to stab him quickly in the chest. As the man dropped, mortally wounded, to the ground, Nathaniel drew his skinning blade with his left hand and slashed the bandit coming up on his right. He rolled on the ground past the bandit, came up on his feet behind the man. As he quickly shoved both blades deep into the bandit’s back, his dagger became hung up on a bone. Leaving it for the moment, he grabbed the dying man’s sword.

A shout from across the fire drew his attention. Sprinting to the opposite side of the flames, he found one of the drivers being overwhelmed by a large man using a mace. Nathaniel yelled loudly, and as the man swiveled to meet him, Nathaniel landed a kick to the marauder’s knee. The man hit the ground, but rolled and sprang back on his feet. He faced Nathaniel squarely, but it was clear that he was favoring the injured joint. Nathaniel wore the cold, deadly grimace of a predator in striking distance of its prey. As the man brought his shield up higher, the driver whom he had been beating hit him twice from behind with a club. The second strike sent blood and brains flying.

Nathaniel grinned in earnest then. “Excellent!” he shouted.

When he looked around the campsite, it was clear that the battle was over. The bandits were dead or dying and then men were walking around, slitting throats of those that still lived. Nathaniel walked to the corpse in which is dagger was embedded. Holding the body down with his foot, he wrenched his dagger free and wiped it clean on the dead man’s jerkin.

To one of his men, he said, “Do not kill them all. We need to find out if there are more to follow.”  The man nodded and went in search of a bandit who was still well enough to be questioned. 

“Anyone injured?” Nathaniel asked out loud. 

“Here, Captain. But it’s not bad,” one of the men said.

“One of my drivers is unconscious,” The caravan leader added, coming to where Nathaniel stood.

 “Angharad is an apothecary and surgeon. She can see to your man.”  Nathaniel told the caravan leader. Saying her name brought Angharad to mind. He looked around the camp for her. Finally, he spied her examining the injured. Satisfied that she was safe, Nathaniel turned to his men.

“Check the dead for papers or anything that will tell us who they are and what faction they represent. Carry the bodies away from the camp. At first light, we will look for Henry,” Nathaniel directed, speaking of the man who had gone missing.

“Yes, Captain.”

Nathaniel saw Angharad commandeer some of the drivers to hold the man who needed stitching.  He could almost feel the burn as the needle went into the man’s arm. His men approached him with what they had found on the bandits, and thankfully he turned his attention to them. Admonishing his soldiers to divide evenly anything of value among those who fought, he sat near the fire to try to read what little papers they had discovered. There was nothing of value in the papers, nothing to indicate anything more than the fact that these men had been ordinary bandits.

“Captain?” 

Nathaniel looked up. Angharad stood by his side.

“Your man will be fine,” she began. “I am not certain of the driver, however. The blow knocked him unconscious. It remains to be seen if he will come to.”

“Very well,” Nathaniel replied. Angharad went back to the wounded and Nathaniel went to interrogate the prisoner. Unfortunately, the man was more seriously wounded than he had appeared and was dead before anything could be learned from him. _Damn!_ Nathaniel thought.

Despite the fact that everyone was tired, Nathaniel insisted that they take to the road the next morning. Sending the caravan on its way, he and two of his men went to search for Henry but found no trace of their missing man. This troubled Nathaniel more than anything. By the time Nathaniel and the other scouts caught up with the caravan, they had reached the edge of the Wood.

The caravan had begun to set up their camp near the road for that night. They would go south toward Denerim the next morning. Given the trouble they had encountered, Nathaniel decided to send three of his men at arms with the caravan. He gave them strict instructions to return as quickly as possible, but he also knew that Denerim was home to a number of popular taverns and brothels. “Quickly as possible” had to allow for at least one wild night on the town. Nathaniel was a serious man, but he understood that sometimes you had to let the wolf loose to howl.

  * \--§



The driver who had been knocked unconscious finally came to some hours after he’d been struck. Though he complained of a headache, his eyes were now working as they should, and he was able to remember his name and other important things. Angharad hoped that he would be completely well soon, but she counseled rest for at least another day. The man still felt bad enough to follow her instructions. It was the late hours of the evening before she was able to make her way to the camp fire. 

Nathaniel was still awake, repairing the arrows he was able to recover from the dead and inspecting those he looted when she appeared. Without a word, he held up a large piece of bread and a hunk of jerky. Grateful, for she was hungry, Angharad took them and sat down to eat.  He continued to work silently on his weapons as she ate, attentive to his task. Angharad watched, admiring Nathaniel’s easy competence.  Without looking her way, Nathaniel said, “There is drinking water in the bucket if you are thirsty.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Angharad went to the bucket and drank. “How long will it take us to reach the quarry tomorrow?” She asked him as she returned to her place by the fire.

“Two hours or so. The road is fairly steep, but well made.”

“I am so excited to be here. I have heard that there is Elfroot and Madcap and other medicinals abounding in the Wood.” She stared into the fire. “The last time I rode the Pilgrim’s Way from Denerim, Mama was too ill to gather plants.”

“Have you no brothers and sisters, then, Angharad?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

“My mama bore a little boy once, but he came too early and died. I do not remember her being with child any other time.” The talk of siblings reminded her of something. “I have a letter from your sister, Delilah. She tells me that your nephew is doing well and writes that she and her husband are selling out on many market days. Delilah sounds very happy.”

“I did not know that Delilah and you were corresponding,”

“Your sister is very kind, Captain. I am not the only orphan she has tended. And I am not the only one with whom she still communicates.” She rose from the log on which she sat. “I need to find my bed roll.”

“Under the small cart,” Nathaniel replied, “I put it there earlier. Good night.”

“Thank you, Captain, Goodnight.”


	5. Chapter 5

# Chapter Five

**The Wending Wood**

As they climbed the cart path to the granite quarry high in the Wood the next morning, Angharad took in the beautiful scenery with happiness. Evergreen trees were now mixed in with the deciduous trees that were more common in the lowlands, and the air smelled of pine. Statutes of Andraste dotted many of the hilltops; and as they made their way upward, Nathaniel told her that each contained a verse from the canticle of Maferath, Andraste’s earthly husband and betrayer. The clean air and beautiful greenery were a welcome sight after the burnt stubble surrounding the keep.

Eager to begin her search for viable plants, Angharad worked hard to unload carts, find equipment and segregate the supplies. She wanted to scream in frustration at the smallest delay, but instead worked harder. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to her, the carts were emptied, the tents were erected, and the bedding and other things in place.

She took up her tools and took one of the flats that she had constructed. But before she could leave, Nathaniel objected. “Angharad, there are wolves, bears, and spiders in these woods, and those are only the ordinary dangers. You cannot go out alone.”

“I shall not go far. Just a little way,” Angharad replied.

“No, Angharad. None in my command will go into the Wood alone.”

“Maker’s breath! For what other reason did we come here?” She demanded. “I—”

“No.” Nathaniel repeated. “In an hour or so, I can spare an escort for you, but not now.”

Before she could retort, he walked way. With a deep sigh, she put her gardening tools away, took up her pack, and went to explore the camp. The men were gone either to the quarry or to the silverite mine. There were some women in camp, gossiping, cooking, though most were camp followers. Angharad did not mind this, for in her travels with her parents, there had been many winters when the only quarters they could afford were in the less savory sections of the town.  Prostitutes of both sexes had sometimes been their neighbors. Experience taught Angharad that on a personal level, those who sold his or her body for a living were no more or less moral than anyone else. They merely had a difficult occupation.

The women were talking amongst themselves when she joined them. “Hello,” she said to them all as she approached their little group.

One of the women, a woman only a little older than she, with dark hair and eyes, looked her up and down quite frankly and said, “If you think to sell your body here, gel, you may be disappointed. The men of this camp would wear you out in an evening.” The speaker paused for effect and added, “And they are used to…” she gestured with her hands, outlining her body, “…more supple stock than you can provide.”

“If I had to depend solely on _this_ body for my daily bread, “Angharad replied, indicating herself, “I would most surely starve. Well, perhaps not starve, but I should even more thin that I am now.” She shrugged and smiled happily. “But as fortune would have it, I earn my way with my medicinals and remedies instead.”

The ladies laughed at both the fact that she had taken the teasing in good grace and the news that she would be no competition.

Angharad continued. “I’d hoped you could tell me where I might wash. My name is Angharad.”

The dark haired woman replied.  “And I am called Nona.” 

Angharad nodded and listened as the other women introduced themselves as well.

Nona said, “You say you sell medicinals?”

“Yes, I do, though, in truth my stock is very low.  One of the reasons we have come is to gather plants for more medications.  Have you a need?” She turned to the other women. “Ladies, is there a remedy you are seeking? If so, tell me and I shall see if I have it in stock or can make it before we depart the camp.” Angharad opened her pack.

The women gathered around her. Most of them sought contraceptives, or cures for diseases common to women. Others were unsure as to what they needed and explained their symptoms to Angharad. Angharad sold what potions she had available at a minimal price. She learned long ago that it was human nature to suspect and devalue free things. Charging even a few coppers made it more likely that the buyer would follow her instructions for using the potion or ointment.

When she had run out of stock, she wrote down the names of the remedies the women sought. Most of the potions she would be able to concoct while she was here. For the rest, she either promised the women she would send them back with the next supply shipment, or she recommended other remedies that might serve as well.

Angharad packed up her things and started back toward the tents that her party was using.

“Angharad?” She turned to find Nona behind her, hands on hips. “You asked about washing. We’ll be going down to the river about an hour or so after midday, if you want to come along.” 

Angharad grinned. “I do!  I stink of the road, and my hair is filthy!”

“Then join us. You are welcome to do so.” Nona said.

Angharad found Nathaniel and the men still separating the supplies for the quarry and the mine when she arrived.  Nathaniel appeared chagrinned. “My apologies, sirrah, but I still have no one to send with you into the Wood.”

“Never mind, Captain. It can wait until the morrow. Meanwhile, I will tend to some washing and be back in time to prepare supper,” Angharad said to him, before walking away to her tent.

Angharad gathered her dirty clothes, a linen cloth, and a piece of her precious soap.  While she waited for the right time to join the women, she began to prepare some of the vegetables for their supper that evening, throwing them into a pot to be cooked later. Seeing that the men had been too busy to think of firewood, Angharad gathered what she could while staying in their sight. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would be a start. She piled the wood by the circle of stones that marked where an old fire had been; and then seeing that it was time to go, she took her things and went to the miner’s camp to find the other women. They, too, had gathered together. Laughing and chatting, they all walked down the winding pathway to the place at the river’s edge where it was safe.

The spot on the river was ideal for bathing. The river eddied at that point, creating a calm pool, safely out of the current, its edge sloping gently into the water, allowing the women to stay in the shallows if they chose. Angharad started to undress. Nona came up to her and said, “Sirrah, a word to the wise. The men know that we bathe here. I daresay there are a few of them even now watching. We always retain our shifts when we bathe.”

“Thank you, kindly. I would have embarrassed myself had you not spoken.”

“You are very welcome, Angharad. We all know that you could have asked a far greater price for your medicines. You were generous to us today.” Nona replied as she waded into the water.

Angharad, still dressed in her father’s old clothes, stripped down to his linen shirt and her small clothes before she entered the water. She unbound her hair from her braids and raked her fingers through. She slowly walked out from the shallow into deeper water until she was able to wet her hair by merely leaning back into the river. She took her soap and lathered herself from her hair to her toes. 

“May I see your soap?” Nona asked her, as she moved to Angharad’s side.

“Certainly.” Angharad handed the soap to Nona then she rinsed her hair.

Nona put the soap to her nose and sniffed. “Ah, it is wonderful! How did you scent it?” she asked.

“I make an oil of gilly flowers and pour it into the batch just before the soap becomes hard. In that way the scent lingers. You are welcome to use it,” she said, as she rinsed her hair once again.

Nona eagerly used the soap. When another woman came to see, Angharad said, “Please, you all may have it if you will. And I have the recipe for the flower oil as well that I will be happy to share.” The women began to wash with the soap talking about recipes they knew for soaps and perfumes and creams. Angharad allowed herself to float in the eddy, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness and savoring the sound of happy company. After a few moments, she left the water briefly to get her clothing. Ruefully, she wished she’d brought more soap for now a simple rinsing in the river would have to suffice for her things this day. As she started to wet them, Nona came up to her. 

“Here, Angharad.” She held out a bar of soap of her own. “This is not scented but it will help to freshen your things.”

Angharad accepted it thankfully. Soap was a precious commodity in a community as isolated as this one. To have refused the offer of soap would have been a blow to Nona’s pride. “I truly appreciate this, Nona,” she said rubbing the soap on her clothing. 

Nona washed her clothing as well, and the two women worked silently side by side.  Angharad waded back into the water to rinse her things. After dunking them multiple times in the water, she laid them out on the rock to dry and found her comb in her pack. Still dressed only in her father’s shirt and small clothes, she stood and began drawing the comb through her long hair until the tangles were gone.  Finally, she sat down on the river’s edge and simply enjoyed the feel of the warm sun on her face.

“Would you like some help in braiding your hair, Angharad?” Nona asked her a few moments later.  “I can braid Orlesian style.”

Angharad laughed, “I would love that.”

She took up her pack and dug around until she found wraps for the braid ends. Orlesian braiding pulled loose hair into each individual strand every time they were twisted, one over the other.  The result lay close to the head.  Orlesian braids did not tug at your scalp as regular braiding did. Angharad could do it herself, but it was difficult to have a good outcome absent a mirror.

Angharad sat cross legged and Nona sat behind her, parting Angharad’s hair into sections. Nona began to sing an old Orlesian ballad as she worked. It was one that Angharad knew well, for her mama and papa had often sung it as a duet as they traveled the road. When Nona came to the chorus, Angharad joined in with the tenor harmony that her father sang. The ballad told the usual tale of young lovers parted and reunited, and it was long enough for Angharad’s hair to be finished before the song ended. With a final yank at the hair tie, Nona said, “Ah voilà, c'est très chic ma demoiselle.”

“Oui! Merci beaucoup” Angharad replied. “Would you like help with your hair?”

Nona smiled. “No. It will be messy in a short while. The sun is headed westward; it is time to go to work.” They both got to their feet. Angharad dressed and then retrieved her other clothing from the rock, draping them over her arm.

As they climbed the rise toward the camp sites, Angharad saw Nathaniel standing at the high point, his expression grim, his lips pressed tight together. When she drew level with him, he said, “In future, you will not leave camp without telling me.” 

Angharad was shocked. “I did tell you, Captain. I told you plainly that I was going to do washing.”

“When!” He demanded falling in step beside her as she walked toward their tents.

“While you were separating the goods. I told you then,” Angharad replied.

Nathaniel sighed. Angharad could see that he now vaguely remembered her words to him.  “Well then…” His words trailed off.  Clearly, he was upset, and it was just as plain he did not know why.

Angharad walked beside him quietly for a little ways, allowing him to calm down before she said, “I have the vegetables ready for cooking, but we will need more firewood.  Also, tonight will be the last of the meat. Someone will have to hunt tomorrow unless you wish to live on lentils.”

Angharad hesitated over her next comment for it was like to upset him, but some things had to be said. “And Captain, you and the men could do with some bathing yourselves.”  Angharad quickened her pace to get ahead of him.

Nathaniel shook his head. “Firewood. Right. Meat. Right. Bath.”  He inhaled deeply. “Humm.” He caught up to her, but didn’t say another word to her for the rest of the afternoon.

As the sun entered the final third of its arc for the day, Angharad prepared the meal while Nathaniel and the other men from the Keep distributed the supplies to the people who worked the Wending Wood. Ordinarily, Nathaniel would have insisted that each man in the company take their turn making the meals; however, Angharad had told him that she could cook for them all on this expedition. There was little enough she could do to assist the men who had to guard her. Cooking and caring for the camp was something she could do to help them.

As they finished eating, Nathaniel told the men. “I am off for the river to wash the road dirt away. I suggest, gentlemen, that you join me.”

Angharad was pleasantly surprised that he was taking her advice, but she was rather shocked that the men seemed not merely acquiescent but eager to follow Nathaniel’s lead. But as Nathaniel and the men walked up from the river to the camp sites, she watched the rest of the men make for the miner’s camp and she understood. The men were seeking the company of the camp followers, no doubt. _Good strategy_ , Angharad thought. 

Angharad watched Nathaniel as he came her way.  He was usually dressed in light leather armor, but this evening he carried it in his hand while wearing only a sleeveless jerkin, trousers, and boots. His hair was still wet from the river, slicked back, and tied off with rawhide.

There was no denying he was a well-made man, with strong muscled shoulders, lean hips, long legs and strong hands. Dressed as he was now, she could see the square set of his shoulder, where the collarbone, neck, and arm joined. The sight of him took her breath away for a moment. He was handsome without being too beautiful. Nathaniel had a fine strong jaw and chin, and his grey eyes were striking. He was lucky to favor his mother a bit more than the Arl, but he had the Howe’s eagle nose, albeit a bit straighter. Angharad liked his nose.  It was strong, it was male, as Nathaniel himself was male.

Though no woman at the keep could claim to have taken Nathaniel to her bed since his return, there was no woman she knew at the Vigil that would not welcome him there. The women of the keep sensed that it was only Nathaniel’s self-restraint that kept him from taking them up on their offers. He was interested but chose to curb his desires.

For this reason, Angharad could not resist teasing just a little. “Did you draw the short straw, Captain?” She asked as she finished putting away the clean cooking and eating utensils. “Made to sit with the apothecary while the others enjoy the evening?”

Nathaniel did not pretend ignorance of her meaning. In all seriousness he said, “A good leader sees the needs of his men first.”

Angharad laughed aloud at that. “In truth, I thought that tending to such needs devolved to _each man for himself.”_

“Angharad, I am constantly perplexed by the incongruous combination of naiveté and worldliness that comprise your knowledge of men. You speak here in almost ribald terms of men consorting with whores, and yet you are unaware when men’s eyes turn your way. And you are oblivious to strange men’s eyes watching you bathe from a hilltop.”

The reason for Nathaniel’s irritation this afternoon now seemed to become clear to her. “Oh. You believe my behavior has somehow shamed the Order, Captain? That I have not been” Angharad searched for the right word, “circumspect enough in my actions?”

“Not shamed the Order, no. But you are careless with your person, sirrah. And you do not stay aware of your environment.”  Nathaniel began to pace back and forth. “In the Keep, this does not matter. The men of the Vigil know well not to molest our women and children. The Warden Commander makes it very clear that he has no tolerance for such behavior there.” He gestured to the surrounding Wood and to the permanent camp just a little bit away. “But this is not the Vigil, Angharad. You must be heedful of your surroundings.” Nathaniel took his armor and other things to his tent and then returned to the fire.

Angharad had taken a seat on one of the crates they had placed around the fire. Nathaniel sat beside her on another one. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped.  “Understand, Angharad. The Commander has need of your skill both in times of peace at the keep but also in times of trouble in the field. If you are to survive, you _must_ learn to defend yourself.  The first step is to always be aware of where you are and who is near you.”  Nathaniel went to stretch and winced. Somewhere during the day of lifting, shifting and sorting supplies, he’d pulled a muscle in his neck. He tried to work it out a little using his opposite hand to apply pressure.

“If, you will permit me, Captain, I can help with that pain,” Angharad said.

Nathaniel swore, “Andraste’s ass! What does my neck have to do with this discussion?”

“Nothing, except that it would please me to help you.” 

“Oh very well, do as you will.”         

Angharad moved behind Nathaniel and began to massage the pulled muscle in Nathaniel’s neck. She rubbed gently at first to accustom him to her touch. When she felt him relax a little as he grew used to the feeling, she used her thumbs to apply more pressure on the individual muscles. Nathaniel slowly but surely relaxed under her hands. She relished the simple sensuality of performing this task for him. She could feel the warmth of his body as she stood near him.  She could sense his emotions cool and his tension ease.

“Captain, “she said as she worked used her palm to press the muscles of his neck, shoulders and back. “I knew very well that the men were there today. The other women warned me.  It is why none of us were completely undressed. It is my understanding that men always watch in this place. And so, I decided to bathe anyway. It was that or remain dirty. I chose to be clean.”  She finished by lightly brushing the muscles she had worked, gradually slowing until she was finished. “Captain, I must ask, would we be having this conversation if I were a man?”  She dropped her hands and stepped in front of him.

Nathaniel’s expression was thoughtful. When he met her eyes with his he was sincere. “We would be having a conversation, yes, although bathing in a river would not necessarily be a part of it. My concern has little to do with your gender, sirrah, and much to do with your lack of training. It is more that you are still a civilian.”

A part of Angharad was disappointed but she hid this well as she smiled and replied, “What would you have me do?”

He stood up. “I wish to train you as I was trained, at the very least how to evade an attacker. As we progress, we will see. You are older than most who learn combat tactics, but that means only that it will be more difficult.”

“I told you before we came that I was willing to do what was necessary,” Angharad replied quietly, “I meant what I told you.”

“Good. Then we will begin with self-defense in the morning.” 

“Not in the morning, Captain. The plants must be lifted in the cool of the morning if they are to survive. Replenishing the medicine garden is my first priority.” Angharad shrugged her shoulders.

“Very well. We shall work in the late afternoons,” He amended. He walked toward his tent to put on his armor. Despite the fact that they were in a place of supposed safety, Nathaniel had still set a watch schedule. He would take first watch this night. Angharad watched him walk away and turned toward her own tent.

“Angharad,” She turned around once more. Nathaniel touched his neck. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Captain. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

# Chapter Six

**The Wending Wood**

Angharad and the men from the Vigil settled into a routine that worked reasonably well for them all. At dawn, they broke their fast with any cold meats and barley or some other cereal. After breaking fast, Angharad watered the transplanted herbs, then she and one of the men would go in search of plants, seeds, and roots that could be either harvested or transplanted into the gardens at the Keep. Each morning, someone would hunt in the hope that there would be fresh game for supper at night. Usually, there was.  

This schedule precluded eating their main meal at noon as was the custom in the Keep, so in the early afternoon, when Angharad had gathered as many plants as she could reasonably carry, she and the man at arms would return to the camp. Angharad would put their supper on to cook, and she would change into her trousers and shirt.  When Nathaniel returned from whatever task he was completing, he would call for practice and all would walk to a small clearing near the tents. Nathaniel included the men at arms in the training sessions for many reasons: The men needed to keep their combat skills sharp; Nathaniel sometimes needed a sparring partner so that he could show Angharad what she needed to do rather than just tell her. As armies in Ferelden had long been mixed sexes, the men saw nothing unusual in training a woman in combat. They heckled Angharad and teased her exactly as they would any new recruit.

Nathaniel taught her first how to fall. It sounded simple, until one had to do it. The trick was to land without breaking a wrist or an ankle. A better trick was to learn to fall and roll. But the best was to fall, roll, and come back up on your feet ready to attack or defend. Nathaniel made Angharad practice again, and again, and again. 

The next lesson he taught her was how to break free from an attacker. By the end of their first week in the Wood, Angharad was scratched and bruised, but she was learning. Edward and James would take bets on how long it would take Angharad to break free from whatever hold Nathaniel had used to confine her.  Though she was freeing herself more often, there were times when she could not yet muster either the strength or the skill to get away. If she could not break free in a reasonable amount of time, Nathaniel would say, “And now you are dead.”  He would then smack her head or shove her to the ground to reinforce the message. The only time she complained of this, Nathaniel lifted an eyebrow and stated sarcastically, “It’s a pale shadow of what you’d feel if you cannot escape in a fight. I suggest you be thankful I do not smack you harder.”

If there was time, he would observe her archery practice and offer correction and pointers.  One morning while out gathering plants, she groused a little over Nathaniel’s insistence on perfection with a bow. Edward, who was watching that day said, “You should be honored, sirrah, and not complaining that Captain is willing to teach you.”

“And why is that?” Angharad asked him, a little put out that he did not sympathize with her plight.

“Captain Howe is the best archer at the Vigil. Mayhap he is the best archer in Ferelden. There are men at the keep who would give a month’s wages to be corrected by the Captain on their archery style.”

Angharad smiled. “I am so ignorant of these things. I knew that the Captain was skilled with the weapon. I did not know he was prized for that skill, Edward. Thank you for telling me.”

“Besides sirrah, he’s kind to you.  I’ve only seen him put you in the dirt a few dozen times. Aye, he’s been most gentle.”

“Truly?” 

“No, sirrah, but you had hope there for a minute!” Edward laughed. “The Captain is known to be easier on the recruits than the sergeant, but not by much.  I’d say you’ve gotten as much grief as any recruit in the yard.”

“Then I shall make no further complaint,” Angharad assured him, and they continued with their task.

In the evenings after the meal, Angharad would work outside by the fire making potions,   ointments and poultices for the women in the main camp. And despite Nathaniel’s objections, she continued to bathe in the river with the other women. The ladies teased about the expedition and her role in it; but as they often saw her on a hillside searching for plants, they knew she spoke the truth. Some of the miners and stone workers approached her for cures as well. Angharad lanced boils, treated rashes, and prescribed a thorough cleaning of all bedding and furniture to reduce the flea population. Fleas and scurvy were the most persistent problems. Her most frequent instructions were to bathe more frequently and eat more greens. The days were long and busy, and Angharad had no trouble sleeping when at last she made her way to her tent each night.

  * \--§



In addition to his other assignments, Nathaniel had been charged with inspecting the granite quarry and the silverite mine. The day Nathaniel decided to inspect the mine, he discovered that returning to it was more difficult than he anticipated. Less than two years ago, he, the Warden Commander, Anders, and Velanna had been taken prisoner in the mine by an intelligent, talking darkspawn who called himself the Architect. The Architect has taken some of their blood in an attempt to help other darkspawn become sentient.

Now, as they walked through the mine, Nathaniel repressed a shudder. On that day, he’d awakened in a cold cell, dressed only in pants and shirt, the Warden Commander and the others in the same condition. They’d had to fight their way through the entire mine, looting weapons and armor from dead enemies until they could recover what was theirs. They’d found the dead and dying Grey Wardens who had been captured during the first attack on the Vigil. The captive Wardens had been bled as well. And then there were the dragons.

The mine had been developed first by the Tevinters. In the upper level of the mine, there were rooms, halls and the prison cells. As Nathaniel and the others fought their way through ghouls and darkspawn, they managed to find another area that had been developed for housing. There was an old passageway, shabby and decaying but, for the most part, intact. It seemed to be a way out of the mine. Two large double doors stood in front of the team. As they opened them, it became apparent that they had stepped into an arena of sorts. 

In the past, perhaps the Tevinters had held games there, forcing their slaves to fight. Or perhaps they used the arena for executions, lining up the workers to witness what happened to rebels. When Nathaniel and the rest stepped into the room that day, there was only the Architect and his two female companions watching. 

From above, two red dragons soared overhead and then landed in the arena with them blowing fire and lunging at them with claws ready to eviscerate anything in their way. The Warden Commander, Anders, he, and Velanna were attacking one of the dragons, trying to slay it first rather than dodge two fire breathers at once. It was a good strategy, but it required maneuvering away from the second dragon at all times.

All was well until Nathaniel lost track of the second dragon. Before he knew it, he was being hit by a fireball from his blind side. The pain was incredible; the pain was the worst thing Nathaniel had ever felt. He could feel the burning even in his lungs and knew that he was dying, would be dead in moments. He fell to the ground gasping for air as everything slowly went black.

Anders brought him back to life with a revival spell that healed him inside and out, but before the spell took effect, he could feel himself pulling out of his body. It was a strange feeling. Nathaniel had been caught somewhere between relief that the pain was gone and terror that he was leaving reality as he knew it. Then, he felt the cooling, easing mist of the spell.  It brought blessed relief to the pain. Suddenly, he was solidly back in his body once more and able to rise and return to the fight. He’d shoved his fear back down deep into himself and fired arrows until he ran out. Then, he turned to his daggers.

It was a long, bloody, bitter fight, but at last both dragons lay dead in the dirt. Nathaniel to this day could not say who landed the killing blows on the animals.  He only knew they were dead at last, and he was damned glad of it.

The smell of the mine, it’s earthen smell, and the aroma of the burning torches, plus the faint smell of darkspawn brought it all back again though he could sense no darkspawn close by. Nathaniel shivered. “Why is no one housed down here?”

The foreman hesitated. 

“What is it?” Turning toward the man, Nathaniel repeated, “Why is no one housed here?”

“In the beginning, we tried living here, Captain. Seemed the sensible thing to do.  It’s dry, it’s relatively clean, logical choice. Right? Except you can’t sleep.  After a few days, you can’t eat. There’s a smell, and sounds, and a feeling. After a fortnight, we all gave up trying to live down here. Working the mine is bad enough. It’s easier to do if you walk out at the end of the day into the fresh air.”

“I see,” Nathaniel said. This was something he would need to include in his report. “Very well. Let’s move on.” By the end of the inspection, Nathaniel was glad to walk out into the fresh air as well.

The inspection at the quarry was easier by far. The arling had only recently begun to hew the dark granite of the Wood. When, Voldrik discovered that the local rock of Amaranthine was insufficient, he’d asked the Commander to find better materials. The granite of the Wood came up to Voldrik’s meticulous standards. Transportation was the biggest issue, for the Vigil was many miles away. It was time consuming and expensive, but it also provided many folk employment with good wages. The Warden Commander did his best to keep the quarry and mine safe. The camp was a tent city for the moment, but already, a short eighteen months after its discovery, there was talk of building permanent dwellings, and some of the Amaranthine merchants were considering what profit margin could be had.  So long as the ore and the rock held out, there would be a community of some kind in the Wood.

Nathaniel returned to the camp, weary from dealing with administrative duties he had performed on behalf of the Warden Commander. Going into his own tent, he took out paper, quill and ink and did his best to write down all he had seen and learned while it was still fresh in his mind. As he recorded his impressions, a task much more difficult for him than firing an arrow into a target, the hours slipped past him. Folding and sealing the missive, he, he looked up and realized that something was not right. Leaving the tent, he looked out at the camp site and walked out into the sunlight. It was the quiet. Edward should have returned from hunting by now. And where were Angharad and James?

Nathaniel strapped on his daggers and took up his bow and quiver. As he recalled, Angharad planned to search the river banks today. He started toward the river and spied Edward coming toward him, a rabbit and a pheasant tied to his waist. Edward smiled and started to say something cocky about the game he’d bagged when he saw Nathaniel’s face.

“Captain, what is wrong?”

“Did you see Angharad and James while you were hunting?”  Nathaniel asked.

“No Captain. I’ve not seen them since morning.”

A ripple of anxiety tightened Nathaniel’s stomach. This did not feel right to him, and paying attention to that feeling had saved him more than once.  For this reason, Nathaniel did not try to talk himself out of his worry.

“Edward, put the meat in Angharad’s iron pot and get your weapon,” Nathaniel said.

Edward took less than a minute.  “Captain? I am ready”

“Ned, did they leave the camp first or did you?”

 “They did. James and Angharad went down through the other camp to the river.”

“Then we go to the river.”  

He and Edward moved quickly toward the miner’s camp. Nona and the other women were preparing the evening meal. Edward spoke out, “Nona, have you seen Angharad? She pass this way?”

“Not since morning. She and Jimmy started upstream early in the day.”

Nathaniel nodded, and the two men walked down to the river and forded about about twenty yards downstream. Once on the opposite bank, Nathaniel began searching for Angharad’s trail.  It wasn’t difficult to find; they’d walked above the water line but in soft soil.  Nathaniel and Edward moved about three quarters of a mile upstream when the trail turned inland. It was easy to see why. The field was filled with Yarrow and other medicinal flowers.  He saw evidence that Angharad had taken both plants, roots, leaves, and flowers. He bent his head to pick up the trail once more when Edward’s “HO! Captain,” got his attention.

Coming over the rise, he saw James and Angharad appear, moving slowly, Angharad  doing her best to support James on his left side, as James favored his foot.  Edward sprinted up to them and took Angharad’s place, leaving her free to move to Nathaniel.  

“What happened?”  Nathaniel asked as he walked toward her. 

Angharad started to speak, but James said, “My fault, Captain. I missed a shot at a spider we ran into, and we both had to scurry away. I found a rabbit hole with my foot and fell into it.  Twisted my ankle good. Flaming spider was on me quick too. One of those big poisonous ones. Had me down on my back and was trying to chew my face.”

“And the spider?” Nathaniel asked.

“Oh, Angharad killed it. Shot it with her bow, she did. When she ran out of arrows, she climbed on its back and kept stabbin’ the bloody thing until it let go a’me and died.”

Nathaniel and Edward eyed Angharad with respect. She was covered in spider slime. “Good work,” Nathaniel said quietly though he smiled as he said it. “Where are your things, Angharad?”

Angharad pointed in the direction from which she had come. “I had to leave them, Captain. I could not carry them and help James.” 

Nathaniel turned to the men. “Can you two get back to camp on your own?”

Both men nodded.  Edward braced James and the two hobbled off toward the camp.

“Let us fetch your things,” Nathaniel told Angharad as he started walking. When she fell into step beside him, he asked, “Are you injured in any way?”

Angharad wiped more slime from her face. “Bruises. Scratches from the bristles on the back of that monster. You may have to dig out some spines. “

“Let me see,” he demanded quietly.

Angharad put her hands into his. He turned them over and saw that there were two spines embedded in her skin. He took out his skinning knife, and with its sharp point, he gently dug the spines from her hands.

“Don’t leave those in too long. They’re not lethal but they can leak enough poison to make you hurt for a day or two.” Nathaniel pushed her sleeves back to be sure that there were no spines in her arms. He put the knife away and turned her face from side to side, examining the skin of her face and neck.

“All clear,” He told her. He looked at her once more, grinned, and then turned away to start walking again. “How much farther, Angharad?”  

“Only a little way. We were on our way back when we were attacked.” 

They crested a small rise and below, Nathaniel could see the signs of the battle. It was a messy kill. Angharad had left bits and pieces of spider all over the place. He approached the spider’s body, studied the arrow pattern, and began to pull the arrows out of the corpse to save as many as he could. 

“When it is possible—and by possible I mean when it is not dangerous to do so—retrieve your arrows. They take time to make and the arrow heads are expensive.”  Once Nathaniel had the arrows and had placed them back in her quiver, he said, “Angharad come here.”  She stood by his side as he studied the spider corpse.  “You had a good consistent pattern of fire. However, with spiders, if you aim for their eyes, they will die more quickly. You will be less likely to have to use your dagger to finish the kill.” He grinned at her once more.

Angharad grew suspicious.  “Why do you smile at me so, Captain?”

Nathaniel quirked an eyebrow. “Let us say I am proud of my pupil. You have learned well.”

“Captain, I suspect there is more to your good humor than that. What do you find amusing?” She asked, but before she could pursue it further, Nathaniel turned away.

“Come. We are losing daylight. Let us retrieve your things.”

Angharad had retained her weapons and her medicine bag, but she’d been forced to leave her plants and tools in the wood by the spider. She took them up now and started back toward the camp. Nathaniel did not offer to carry anything for her. He needed to keep his own hands empty to more quickly react to a threat. 

The two of them walked in virtual silence back toward the camps. They forded the river and walked back upstream. When they reached the eddy, Nathaniel turned to her and said. “Uh, Angharad, you may wish to consider bathing before you return to camp.”

“Why?”

Nathaniel’s face was composed but his eyes were bright with humor. “The green of the spider excrement on your face is too much of a contrast to the red of its guts caught in your hair. And then, Angharad…” he held back a chuckle, “…there is the smell!”

The look of horror on Angharad’s face was enough to send him over the edge into outright laughter. “You look like you’ve been eaten and spit out!”  He added between the gales of laughter.  He clutched his sides, “ _Oh that hurts_.”  He said holding his stomach as he laughed.

Angharad ripped off her vest and boots and started toward the water. “Serves you right!” She yelled back over her shoulder as she made for the deeper part of the eddy. Nathaniel only laughed harder. Realizing that the smell was not washing away with water, she got back out and pulled soap from her pack. 

When Angharad rose from the eddy and moved to shore, Nathaniel stopped laughing.  The wet clothing clung to her body, outlining her slender curves. The linen shirt did nothing to hide the perfection of her nipples or the high rounded slope of her breasts. The need to touch exploded inside him.  He jumped quickly to his feet and turned away to reclaim his composure and to reestablish the self-imposed barrier.

 “I’ll wait at the hilltop,” Nathaniel told her, walking away before she could answer.

Angharad saw the look in his eyes, saw that he quickly turned away from her. Sadly, she returned to the water. Like so many other men, Nathaniel turned away. She had never been pretty enough and wasn’t now. Angharad was too used to being ignored by men to allow herself tears. Her pride, at least, she could keep. She finished washing and hurried up the hill.

James was waiting by the fire side, his ankle swollen. Angharad saw to his injury, grateful to have something to occupy her mind. Then she prepared supper. She, James and Edward were seated at the fireside, eating when Nathaniel came and took his portion of supper from the pot. He sat down on a crate near her and said, “How much more time do you need to gather plants, Angharad?”

“I’ve no more flats to fill. Certainly, I can continue to take roots and the like, but we can return to the keep at any time. I am satisfied that we have what we need to help restore our stock and the garden.”

Nathaniel nodded, watching the fire. “Then once my other three men return from Denerim, we shall return to the Vigil.”  

“As you wish, Captain,” Angharad walked away. She and Nathaniel did not speak for the rest of the evening.

  * §--§



It took three more days for the men to return from Denerim. Nathaniel suspected that the night on the town was more like two, but he said nothing. Nathaniel announced that they would pack later that afternoon. “I want to begin loading the carts at dawn and be on the road for the Vigil before middas.” He told them all.

Angharad had little to pack. Her plants were ready for transport. She had already devised a method for shielding them from the direct sun during the journey home so there was little left to do. Instead she took advantage of this last opportunity to bathe before the journey home.

  Angharad met the other women at the eddy so that she could enjoy their company one last time. She assured them that anything she had not been able to create on site, she would send with the next wagon from the Vigil. She smiled and laughed at the jokes and teasing that always took place, but when the women turned their attention elsewhere, Nona came close.

“Angharad, tell me, mon amie, what is wrong?”  Her concern for Angharad was real.  Nona had begun to whore at the age of twelve. She and Angharad were probably of a near age in body, but Nona was so much older when it came to understanding men. She sensed that something had broken in Angharad, and she suspected the cause. “Have things gone amiss between you and the handsome Captain?” she asked in Orlesian.

Angharad bit her lip. Humiliation stained her cheeks red. “The Captain finds me disgusting.”

“This I do not believe, Angharad. Did he say so? “

“No. No. Nathaniel would not be so cruel.” Angharad went on to describe the incident.

“Come. I will braid your hair and we will talk.” As Nona braided Angharad’s hair one last time she began. “Ma chérie, first of all, you need to know that the Captain is very much entranced by you!” When she felt Angharad start to protest, Nona said, “No. Hear me out. He watches you, Angharad; and, when he watches you, there is such a mixture of desire and affection there, Mon Créateur, I would that some man saw me that way.”

Angharad’s hand went to her cheek. “But—“

“You think a small scar on your cheek renders you ugly? Angharad, your scar is the last thing most men see when they look at you.” She twisted another strand of hair into Angharad’s braid.  “No. They see the way you walk with the unconscious grace of a doe in the forest. They see the innocence mixed with sensuality in your face. They are bemused by your air of competent authority when you minister to their illnesses contrasted with your intense shyness in social situations. They _see_ you, Angharad, but you do not see them.” Nona finished, tying off her hair. “Certainly some men do not find you appealing. Thank the Maker that every man has a different taste, no?  But you would be surprised at how many men find you to their liking.”

“The Captain—“

“Do you know what the Captain did the day after you first came to bathe in the river?”

Angharad shook her head. Nona gestured at the ridge above them. “Do you see any men up there today?  No?  Have you seen any men on the ridge lately?  No! That is because your Captain told the men in the camp that if they continued to spy on you—how did he say it--invade your privacy, he would make certain that they never had a desire to look at another woman again. I would suggest to you that this is an indication of _intense_ interest! You must be brave, Angharad. You must talk to him. You must tell him that you care for him.”

Angharad’s cheeks turned scarlet at the mere thought.

“The Captain, for all his skill in battle, for all his prowess with blade and bow, is but a human being, ma chérie. So long as he is uncertain of your feelings, he does not feel at liberty to share his own. You _must tell him how you feel_.”

Nona paused a long time giving Angharad a chance to absorb her words. Then she hugged Angharad close. “I am so sad that you are leaving us. Write to me. I do not read well, but I am not entirely illiterate. I should like to know how you fare.”

“I will miss you, Nona,” Angharad said, returning Nona’s hug. “If you ever have need of me—”

“And you, me.”

Angharad walked back to camp, prepared their supper, and served it to the men. She ate as well, but only a little. By the time the meal ended, the men were ready to turn in. Everyone had worked hard that day to do as much of the packing as possible.

Angharad was still up, cleaning her stew pot and utensils. They would breakfast with cold food in the morning so the pot could be placed in the cart. She maneuvered the heavy iron pot in preparation to lifting it onto the cart.

Nathaniel took the heavy pot from her. “Let me do that.”

“Thank you.” Angharad replied, turning away.

Nathaniel put out a hand to catch hers. “Angharad. Have I offended you somehow?”

“On the contrary, Captain. It is I who somehow offended you.”

Nathaniel gestured with his head toward the far side of the camp away from the bedrolls and sleeping men. When he was reasonably certain they would not be overheard he said, “I don’t know what you mean. You have in no way offended me, Angharad. Why would you think that?”

“Nathaniel. At the river. You practically ran away. I know that I am nothing to look at, but I did not think I was…” Angharad did not get to finish, for Nathaniel stepped so close to her that she could feel his breath against her hair.

“You misunderstood. You were so beautiful as you stepped from the river that I could not trust myself.” Nathaniel said quietly, his voice low and rough with emotion. “It caught me unaware, and I—.” He shook his head. “No, I will not allow a moment of weakness on my part to destroy your trust in me.”

“You cannot destroy my trust in you. I have trusted you ever since the Mabari,” Angharad said simply. She smiled. “Am I truly pretty?” She asked.

Nathaniel’s dark eye brows drew down. “Surely you know that? Angharad, you cannot be so unaware.”

Her hand unconsciously went to her cheek, and he shook his head in disbelief. “You cannot think that a scar—” He moved to her and touched the thin, white line with his finger. “It’s nothing, Angharad.” He turned away. “Go to your bedroll. We must rise with the sun tomorrow.”

The brief contact of his hand on her face was too little for more than a hint of what he felt, but she knew he was troubled. “What is it you fear, sir?” she asked.

He turned to face her again, his tense expression softened into a rueful smile. “Aye, I do fear, a little. I fear to lose my resolve to leave you alone because I have nothing to offer you. No home, no income, so sense of security. I am sure that you have heard tales and rumors about the wardens. There is much that I am bound not to tell you. But I can tell you this: While marriage is not forbidden, it is highly discouraged by our Order. And there would be no children because the ability we have to sense the darkspawn interferes with our ability to have healthy children. It is rare for a warden or a spouse to conceive a child. It is rarer still for a healthy child to be born. And there is no provision in our Order for widows.”

Angharad knew that there was more. “And?”

“When I returned from the Free Marches, determined to murder the Warden Commander in revenge for my father’s death, I was apprehended and thrown into my family’s dungeon. The Commander could have executed me then and there, but he chose to conscript me into the Grey Wardens as my punishment, or perhaps as a gift, I do not know. At first, I hated him, and I hated the Wardens. But in time, Angharad, I grew to love what I do.”

He raised his hand as if to touch her face, but then let it drop. “You must understand, I love what I do. I love the fighting. I love the danger. I take pleasure in the kill. I love the discipline and the camaraderie that being a Warden brings. I love my life, Angharad, particularly so since all else was lost by my father. I would never leave the Order.”

Angharad smiled happily. “Is that all? Nathaniel, you’ve told me nothing I did not already know. You are a killer. You have been trained from birth to be a killer, first by your father and then by your foster. It is the way of nobles to train their children to kill.”

“But I am no longer a noble, and you deserve more from life than to be a soldier’s woman.” Nathaniel started toward his own bedroll, but Angharad put a hand on his arm.

“Wait!”  His arm tensed but he did not turn away. “I am the one who decides what I want and deserve from life.”

“See sense, gel. You could have a home, children, a future. I can give you none of those things.” Turning away, he walked to his bedroll and lay down before she could say more.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered, her hand still tingling from touching Nathaniel’s arm. “No home, at least not one that anyone would recognize. No children, at least none with their own name, but I will have you. Yes, I will have you.”

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

# Chapter Seven

**Return to Vigil’s Keep**

The return trip to the Vigil was uneventful. Edward and James listened enviously as Gareth, Erik, and Bernhard spoke of the delights of Denerim. Nathaniel determined to give Edward and James a few days leave to go to Amaranthine. It wasn’t quite as exciting as seeing the capital of Ferelden, but it would have to do.

Angharad was quiet during the trip home, though she did relax enough to help tell the tale of the spider and the maiden as they sat round the campfire that evening. It was good to hear her laugh, as she did when the men described the goo covered mess left over by her kill.

They all pushed hard the next day to be certain that they would make it to the keep and not have to camp another night.  It was late afternoon when they pulled the carts through the stockade gates at last. It took another hour or so to unload Angharad’s precious plants and carry them to the herb garden. In the morning she would transplant them, but they would be safe enough overnight. The castle folk unloaded the rest of the equipment and the ore that they had been able to bring back with them.  The smithy would be grateful for the silverite ore was used to make the official armor of the Vigil’s guard.

Nathaniel met with the Seneschal and turned over his public reports on the mine and quarry so that they could be copied.  Nathaniel would report privately to the Warden Commander upon his return from the Landsmeet about other things.  Conor was quite pleased with Nathaniel’s findings. “This is good news, Captain.  Production in both the mine and the quarry are good. With luck we will have enough ore from the mine to sell as well as see to our own needs. A steady income will mean a great deal to the Vigil.”

“I would suggest that you increase the patrols on the Pilgrim’s Way. Issue a warrant for Henry. He may well be dead, or he may be the one who set us up to be attacked.”

 “Good ideas. Nathaniel, I would ask that you go travel the Arling and recruit for the army and the guard. I know many died in the Siege, but we still have need of men and women to serve.” Nathaniel thought that this idea would keep until the Warden Commander returned from the Landsmeet but said nothing.  He was too weary to argue the point tonight.  Instead he said, “Have we missed the main meal?”

“By no means. Cook will sound the horn soon, though. You’d best clean up.”

Nathaniel went to his quarters to do just that. He made a mental note to have his armor repaired. He could do many repairs in the field, but some of the damage to his armor required an expert to put right. He undressed, washed and put on fresh trousers and tunic. Armed only with a dagger, he walked toward the main hall. Their return from the Wending Wood was no occasion for feasting, but everyone would expect to hear a little of their journey. The tales were what served for news to the castle folk and they would not be denied. It meant that Nathaniel would have to make a speech. He hated making speeches.

It was with deep gratitude that Angharad returned to her workroom in the keep. She scrubbed from head to toe and slipped into her best gown, a deep blue-violet silk that she had obtained from Delilah’s generosity all those years ago. She seldom wore it, as she knew it was likely she would never have another silk dress, but tonight seemed a good night to wear it. She braided her hair in a single tail down her back and put on her one and only pair of dress shoes.  Thankfully, they were black and went with everything. The cook’s horn sounded as she was walking toward the hall. When she entered, she walked to one of the tables near the doors to sit.

The high table was still empty when she arrived, so there would be no food service yet.  Until the Commander had appointed her apothecary, Angharad would have been busy in the kitchens at this point, readying the food to be brought out. Right now, the cook was yelling and the maids and helpers were scurrying about in response. No one who had not worked there would understand the controlled chaos of a large kitchen.

Edward and James sauntered into the hall and quickly joined Angharad at the table. As others sat down, the conversations back and forth became boisterous. Edward and James were eager to tell the tale of their encounter with the bandits. As they told their story, it was clear to Angharad that their part in the narrative was growing with the telling. She did not give them away, though. Instead, she added nice, if entirely specious touches to their tale of glory. The women at the table were suitably impressed.

Finally, the Seneschal and Nathaniel took their places at the high table, a signal that the meal could begin. Food began streaming from the kitchen, first to the important, but finally, to the rest of the folk. The bread, when it arrived at their table, was fresh and still warm. Angharad thought she would die of bliss. There had been no way to make bread on their journey, and she had hesitated to ask for some from the miners’ as the supplies of flour, yeast and salt were precious and had to last a long while. Hot fresh bread tasted delicious!  She’d taken a rather large bite and then drank a deep draught of the castle mead. The silence at the table drew her attention. She looked up to find everyone staring at her. Wiping the crumbs away from her mouth and managing to chew and swallow she asked, “What?”

“I daresay, sirrah, that you look better in breadcrumbs than spider shite!” Edward said.

Angharad stared at him a moment then she burst out laughing. “You must admit that I looked better in spider shite than did James! He does not look good in green!”

The laughter grew louder, and the lads continued on with the tale. Angharad took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. It was so good to be home.

Soon the tables were cleared and pushed back. The women began to form a circle for a carole. Helen grabbed Angharad’s hand and pulled her into the circle. One of the women began the tune. She sang the verse and all the dancers joined in the chorus as they danced the round. When the dance was complete, another woman began a second carole, and the men joined the circle to dance and sing as well. The local musicians joined in and when the second carole ended, and the dancers broke into pairs for a galliard.

Angharad drifted to the tables and leaned against the edge to watch the dancers.

“You are not dancing?” 

She looked over her shoulder at Nathaniel who had appeared by her side. “I was, but I am weary. It has been a long day.” She stood up. “I believe it is time for me to return to my quarters.”

“May I walk with you?” Nathaniel asked her as she moved toward the doors.

“Of course,” Angharad said.

They walked together from the great hall into the courtyard. The crescent moon was high in the night sky. There were no clouds; it was a pleasant change of the usual rain. Angharad took a deep breath. “It is good to be home.”

Nathaniel pulled her into the shadow of one of the market stalls. He drew Angharad close to him and slowly lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss. His lips brushed Angharad’s softly at first, gently nipping at the corners of her mouth. Angharad exhaled in pleasure and Nathaniel’s mouth opened as well. They shared breath for a moment or two, kissing with open lips. When Angharad pressed closer, Nathaniel slipped his tongue into her mouth to taste her.

Angharad moaned softly as white molten fire shot through her. Nathaniel kissed her again and again. When he heard sounds from the passage way leading to the great hall, he stepped away. “I, I should—let me take you back to the hall.” Nathaniel dropped her hand.

“No. Take me to the South Solar.” Angharad put her hands on his chest and whispered, “We’ve only a little time as lifetimes go, Nathaniel. Let us not waste it in false decorum.”

“It is too soon—”

“I have been yours since we met in the barn over your pups. Take me to the solar.”

He took her hand and led her to the South Solar in which he’d been housed during his recovery. Nathaniel pulled Angharad inside the room, and shut the door. It was dark except for a small sliver of moonlight coming through the arrow slits, but it was enough to find the candle that still stood on a small table. He struck flint and sparked the candle to light. Then he turned to her.  “You want this? You are certain?” He asked simply.

“Oh yes.” She replied.

Nathaniel kissed her lips again as he caught her braid and pulled the tie from her hair. As he kissed her mouth again and again, he ran his fingers through her hair until it was loose. Untying the laces of her outer tunic, he pushed it off her body. Nathaniel slowly outlined the contour of her shoulders, waist, and hips with his hands and then cupped her breast. When his thumb found her nipple and traced its circle, Angharad arched with a soft intake of her breath. Nathaniel pulled her shift over her head, studied her in the candlelight, and simply said. “Beautiful.”

 Taking Angharad in his arms, Nathaniel lay her gently on the bed.  He removed his clothing and lay next to her, pulling her close and kissing her again and again, until Angharad was floating on a sea of yearning.

“’M anwylyd,” he said against her skin as he traced a path with his lips. He whispered it again in her ear before nibbling at the softness of her neck. Nathaniel explored her belly and hips with his hands and his mouth, driving Angharad mad with longing for him. Still, he waited, teasing her, caressing her until she was oblivious to anything except his touch, his mouth, his body. And when he joined with her and they rocked together in sensual pleasure, he kept pace with Angharad, listening to the rate of her breath and noting the color of her skin as they moved together. Her high gasping cry of release was met with his groan of pleasure. Angharad held him tightly against her body, tasting his sweat, murmuring love words against his skin until she fell asleep.

Nathaniel woke an hour later with Angharad wrapped securely in his arms, pressed up against him. He lay beside her, eyes closed, focusing on the feel of her warmth, the softness of her skin, and the rhythm of her breathing.

It had been a long time since Nathaniel had even allowed himself the pleasure of a woman’s body let alone the joy of being with someone he admired. The intensity of his feelings for her frightened him a little. It was too sudden, too intense, and it frightened him in a way that no armed encounter ever could. He nestled closer to her, and inhaled her scent. He wanted to imprint each of his senses with the sight, sound, taste, and feel of her so that when they were apart, he could close his eyes and remember.

When he opened his eyes once more, he found her awake and watching him. “Don’t worry, anam cara, all will be well with us. You will see.” Angharad assured him. She brushed his hair back from his face and then kissed him deeply as she learned his body with her hands. Angharad could not explain to Nathaniel how it was for her. When she held him close, when she touched his skin or kissed him, bits of his past, his feelings and his secrets flowed through her like a current. She knew his dark places. She knew the things he would not allow himself and the things he would indulge. It was not yet time to explain this to him, but she must tell him soon.  He must be able to trust her in the time ahead of them. And then she let the thought go as they continued to kiss and caress one another. It was dawn before they managed to dress and slip away to their assigned quarters.

  * \--§



The next day, tired but eager to begin, she transplanted all her precious herbs and medicinal plants. It was important to keep them watered and shaded from the noon day sun until they had time to put down their roots. Task completed, she set up regular clinic hours so that those who were sick could come to her workroom. She tended to accidents and injuries as well, soothing burns, setting bones, and stitching scalps.

Nathaniel turned Angharad’s combat training back over to Tomas, the sergeant at arms, who was pleasantly surprised at her progress. In the days that followed, he attended to the military duties of the Keep, going out on patrol, eliminating the groups of bandits, smugglers and marauders that harried the caravans and ships on the coast. No matter how many criminals they destroyed, there were always more that came.

The Blight was ended, but Ferelden was still in disarray. The Civil War had made all worse, and there were thousands of displaced people searching for somewhere to survive. Most were destitute, and desperation led to criminal activity. Disturbed by the news coming from the northland, Queen Anora organized the resettlement of the Ferelden refugees. In a month of her taking the situation in hand, the refugees were met with basic necessities, and, more important, with information on where in Ferelden they could go to find work and a new life. 

From the Vigil, the Wardens sent an expedition into abandoned Thaig of Kal’Hirol to learn what they could of the darkspawn’s latest abominations. Sentient darkspawn were much more of a threat than the hideous creatures the Mother had managed to concoct in her brood mothers, but the Wardens still needed to understand how she had managed to breed her monsters. Nathaniel drew maps of the Thaig but did not go. He would have chosen to return had he been free to do so, but as the Keep’s Guard Captain and Warden in Charge he had to maintain the security of the Arldom.

Angharad, too, was busy. There were days when she and Nathaniel only saw one another at the evening meals. At those times, Nathaniel sat at the high table with the Seneschal and those Grey Wardens who were assigned to the Vigil, while Angharad sat with the Silver Knights, the scribes and Chantry sisters. Occasionally, their eyes would meet, but they would quickly look away. Too much could be revealed in a glance. While their relationship was not strictly forbidden; it was still outside the normal bounds of decorum and station. Nathaniel would not suffer much other than teasing, but Angharad could find herself subjected to unwanted attention from men who would think her willing to sleep with anyone.

One place they could be certain of privacy was the South Solar. It was there that they most often met, in the late evening and early morning hours when others were asleep. In those evenings they learned each other’s bodies and rhythms. They explored each other completely and without shame. After they made love, they would lie together and talk of the day and the things that occurred.  It often felt like a honeymoon, though it wasn’t one. It was in the solar that Angharad finally gathered the courage to tell Nathaniel about their union and her gift. They were lying together facing one another. “Nathaniel,” she began softly, “I must explain something to you and I don’t quite know how to say it.”  Angharad told him.

“Just start at the beginning,” Nathaniel said easily.

Angharad took a deep breath. “You know that I have the Sight, and you’ve seen how it can come about through touch. You must understand, Nathaniel, that any time I come into physical contact with another person, I get flashes of that person—what they think, what they’ve done, what they desire, what they despise—I can block it, a little, but not all.” Angharad took another deep breath. “Nathaniel, you are not a stranger. You are the person I love most in this world. And when you touch me—when I touch you, I am open to you, and you, you are open to me.”

Nathaniel turned on his back and put his arm underneath his head. For a long time he was silent, and then he said, “So you know everything about me. Tell me what you know, Angharad.”

“You loved your mother and worshipped your father as you were growing up. But your brother tormented you, and you used to do things to get revenge. You were beaten one time for letting your hound mark your brother’s best tunic.”

Nathaniel smiled ruefully. “I believe I am rather notorious for that crime, Angharad.  You shall have to do better than that.”

“Very well.” She said. “The Marcher Lord that your father sent you to as squire trained you as an assassin. In truth, Nathaniel, you know more about poisons than I do.” Angharad felt Nathaniel tense, but went on. “You enjoyed being his assassin, Nathaniel. You thrilled in the stealth and the silent kill. As you said, you reveled in it. You reveled in it until you were told to assassinate a boy of twelve because he stood in the way of your Lord marrying his son to a woman with a great deal of land. You set up the kill and completed it with your usual skill, but it was the first time you had been asked to murder a child.  You were sick afterward. And it was then you first asked to be released from your fealty oath and return home.”

Nathaniel covered his eyes as the shame washed over him. To this day, his stomach grew queasy at the memory of the boy and the memory of killing him. “Maker’s Breath!”  He whispered in a broken voice.

“Nathaniel. I will always love you,” Angharad replied answering the unspoken question that lurked in his mind. “An evil man does not feel shame for his sins, Nathaniel. You do. In truth, your conscience is almost too harsh.”

He was quiet for a long while, and then he rolled onto his side toward her. “And if I were to stray some day, you would know that I had been unfaithful to you.” 

“I would never expect you to be physically faithful to me, Nathaniel,” Angharad told him. 

Shocked, Nathaniel pushed up on his elbow so that he could see her face. “Truly? Why would you allow me such latitude?”

“You are a Warden. Your order will send you to many places and expect you to do many things. There will be many partings in our lifetime, many farewells. When you return to me, I will not care if you took comfort in someone else’s arms. It is unimportant so long you return.”

 “I do not wish to be unfaithful to you, Angharad. And I do not say that I am particularly delighted to know that I have no secrets any longer. But, if there is to be someone who knows everything about me, I am glad it is you.” He took her in his arms. “I—” he was about to say _I love you,_ but he stopped himself.

“I love you too,” she said.

Shocked that she knew or guessed, he said, “It is true. I do love you.”

It was the first time he’d said it, those three words. They were all the sweeter because he said them, not in the heat of passion, but in a quiet moment of reflection. “I love you, too. Longer than you know,” she replied.

Puzzled by her remark, Nathaniel turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

She rose up on her elbow to better see his face. “You know. Do you think that only your Mabari pups could enchant me? In truth, I do not know how you failed to sense my eyes following you about the great hall at each meal when you returned home. I was moonstruck even then.” Angahrad’s cheeks were pink and her eyes cast down.

“Calf’s love,” he teased, but she did not reply. In truth she’d been heartbroken when he left for the Free Marches. Gently dragging her back down he hugged her close once more. “I count myself fortunate that you did not outgrow such nonsense.” Yawning, he added, “Go to sleep love.”

Angharad woke with a start in the hour before dawn. She sat up and shook Nathaniel’s shoulder.  “Nathaniel. The Warden Commander is returning. His messenger will be here within the hour.”

“We’d best get back to where we belong then, anam cara.” 


	8. Chapter 8

# Chapter Eight

**The Vigil**

True to her prediction, a messenger arrived an hour later with news that the Warden Commander was a half day behind him. Nathaniel did not know whether to be proud or afraid of Angharad’s unusual gift, but within the hour he was too busy to worry about it.

Everyone organized and prepared for the Commander’s return to the keep. Men were sent out to hunt game. The cooks prepared meats, pies and white bread for the high table. Market stalls were organized and dusted. The stables were mucked out and the gardens weeded.  Everyone moved at an accelerated pace as they watched the sun climb higher in the sky.

Angharad tended first to her garden, and then she went to her workshop to straighten up her area. Drying leaves and flowers hung upside down from an overhead rack. Boxes filled with herbs were neatly labeled and placed in alphabetical order on the shelves. Ointments and potions were sorted on the shelves opposite, and the empty potion flasks were tucked underneath the work table for easy access. Angharad had even found a chair for those who needed treatment and a narrow table that was high enough for her to use for patients who needed to lie down. All in all, she was satisfied with the work she had accomplished while the Commander was in Denerim.

Satisfied that her space was ready for inspection should the Commander choose to view it, she went across the courtyard to the kitchens to lend a hand. Meal preparation for so many was always a large task.  Preparing a welcome home feast even more time consuming. With the ease of long practice, she slipped into a spot at the long table and began chopping vegetables. The maids were quiet at first, but soon fell into their usual banter and teasing as they continued to work.

The excited cries from the courtyard told Angharad that the Commander’s retinue was approaching. She removed her work apron and hung it on the peg by the doors before going out.  She climbed the stairs to stand at the stone balustrade and watch the Commander ride in. To her eyes, he seemed tired, but that was to be expected. 

The Landsmeet was a grueling combination of politics, ceremony, danger, and farce.  There were always tales of this bann or that arl coming to blows during the debates over issues.  Occasionally, there were duels. The old Arl often relayed stories of bloodshed and mayhem that arose at the Landsmeet. As barbaric as it could sometimes be, it was certainly less so than the constant warfare between lords that used to be Ferelden’s daily life. It was crude, but the Landsmeet afforded a place for the people to air their grievances and seek redress from the Crown without resorting to general violence.

As the Commander rode under the portcullis, Angharad turned and went back down the stairs. All who saw him were excited because the horse the Commander rode was new to the Vigil.  New horses meant additional breeding stock. That was good indeed.

Conor and Nathaniel met the retinue as they rode into the courtyard. Conor formally welcomed the Commander home; and, to his credit, he kept the welcome short. He and Nathaniel escorted the Commander to the great hall, where they stood by his side as the vassals were called into the throne room. Given the propensity of vassals to “forget” their oath of fealty to their lords, those vassals who were physically at the keep were expected to repeat their formal oath of fealty in front of their peers as a reminder to one and all of their duties.

 Once this was completed, the Commander dismissed the company until meal time and retired to his office to meet with his seneschal. Nathaniel was instructed to stay close as his report would be next. The seneschal’s report took some time; for the arling’s holdings were substantial. The Commander came to the door and gestured to Nathaniel to come in. The Commander sat down but did not suggest that Nathaniel avail himself of a chair. 

“Report, Captain?”  The Commander said.

Nathaniel held out the report. Etienne looked it over said. “And tell me of the Wending Wood expedition. What are the conditions of the holdings there?” 

“Production from the mines has increased, however, the output from the quarry remains flat. I believe that this has more to do with the difficulty of transporting the stone rather than any reduction in productivity on the part of the masons. There is a substantial backlog of stone waiting to be transported. We had some difficulty with bandits, and I suspect that one of our men may have been the inside informer for the attack we suffered. We did not find his body, so I had a warrant issued for his arrest should he be found. If he is alive, he is a deserter. And if he is dead, then a warrant won’t matter,” Nathaniel told the Commander.

“Continue.”

“Your new apothecary successfully transported many plants back to the keep, most of which have survived and appear to be taking root in the gardens. She was able to harvest a good many more and informs me that she has a good supply of medicinals for the next few months.  Angharad does ask to be allowed to send remedies to the camp with our wagons as the workers seemed to have a great need of them. She has continued with her self-defense and combat training.  I supervised that while we were in the wood; however, Tomas is seeing to it now,” Nathaniel finished.

“Very good, Captain. Now please sit down,” Etienne said, indicating a chair. Once Nathaniel was seated, Etienne spoke once more. “Captain, this is for your ears only, understood?”

Nathaniel nodded without speaking.

Etienne added, with a slight grin, “You may not even share it with votre chérie, la belle, Angharad.” The shocked expression on Nathaniel’s face almost made the Commander laugh. Instead, in an offhand tone he said, “Did you really think that your romance would remain a secret in a community such as ours, Captain?  The seneschal told me of the rumors, but I had already heard them from the herdsman whom I passed along the road. It seems that you are of great interest to the people of your father’s lands, Nathaniel. And la demoiselle is well liked by the community.”

“I-I—“

“Say nothing Captain.  What is done, is done,” Etienne said.  “Now as to the information—“

“If Angharad cannot know what you are about to tell me, there will be difficulty. Angharad seems to be able to know anything she wishes about me.”

“Ah, Mon Créateur! I had forgotten. You would be an open book to Angharad. It must be very uncomfortable to know that your woman knows everything about you.”

Nathaniel started to speak, but Etienne shook his head. He did not want to get side tracked by that discussion. He thought for a moment and said, “Very well. I will speak to our saga when we have finished.”

Etienne stood up and paced the room. “Things are not going well between Ferelden and Orlais. King Alistair and Queen Anora appear to want peace, as does the Empress; however, it is my opinion that the nobles of the nations will not allow it. Needless to say, this makes it almost impossible for me to continue as the Warden Commander of the Vigil. I have written Weisshaupt, but I suspect that their answer will be to recall me and put someone else in charge of this command. No doubt it will be someone who has no connection to the Imperial Court and Val Royeaux. You would be my first choice as a replacement, Nathaniel, but I think you know why that will never happen.”

Nathaniel knew quite well that it would never happen. His family was high on the list of “most treacherous” in the minds of the King and Queen. Nathaniel suspected that the Queen blamed his father for leading hers astray, despite the fact that it was Loghain who betrayed her first husband at Ostagar. In addition to this, it would mean swearing fealty to Fergus Cousland whose family was murdered by his father.

“I wanted you to understand that this has nothing to do with your abilities, Captain. I think highly of you as does the First Warden. However, you are to be transferred to the Free Marches to Stroud’s command.”

Nathaniel did not flinch, but it was the worst possible news he could hear. The Marches held few good memories for him, and he had hoped never to return there. Still, the fact that they had been his home for some years made it a logical choice for his transfer. 

“I see.”

“There is more, Captain. While I was in Denerim, I made inquiries as to where our seer might receive help with her talent. It seems that the King’s court healer is known as a fine teacher of the mental disciplines that could help Angharad control her gift. The healer is also very knowledgeable in medicine as well as magic. The King and Queen have graciously consented to allow Angharad to come to Court. Their healer has agreed to take her as an apprentice and to teach her the mental discipline she needs. So, if you hoped that Angharad might journey with you, it is impossible.” 

The Commander did not offer his sympathy, though he surely felt it. He knew very well what it was to part with your loved ones and leave for a strange land. Etienne hoped that he would be able to travel home to Orlais before being posted elsewhere. Aloud, he merely said, “You are dismissed, Captain. Please find Angharad, and send her to me.”

Angharad was still helping in the kitchen when Nathaniel finally found her. She looked up from the table where she was kneading bread dough and smiled at him. When he did not smile back, she turned to the woman next to her and spoke softly. The woman took her bread dough as Angharad moved toward the door. Nathaniel looked from Angharad to the curious eyes of the kitchen staff who watched them with eager anticipation. It occurred to him that he had been a fool to forget what the castle gossip mill was capable of. 

Angharad walked out the door with him; and, as they crossed the courtyard she said, “It is all right, Nathaniel. It was never going to remain a secret forever.”

“I suppose I knew that. It’s worse for you than for me, Angharad. Things will be said. Insinuations made.”

Angharad stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him. “Nathaniel Howe. They can name me a whore and brand it on my forehead for all I care. I shall not regret a single moment of our time together. Not a single moment. Now, take me to the Commander so he can tell me the bad news.”

“How do you know there is bad news?” He asked as they entered the passage and walked toward the Commander’s office.

“I know, anam cara, because it is there in your face. I don’t need the Sight to see the sadness in your eyes. I just don’t know the specifics.” 

Angharad knocked on the door and entered the room alone. Etienne nodded to the chair and she sat down. “You look very weary, Commander,” Angharad said quietly.

“I _am_ weary, sirrah.  It was a very discouraging Landsmeet. When I rode through the gate, I believed I was bringing you exciting news. I no longer believe you will be pleased to hear what I must say. I will be recalled to Weisshaupt soon, and there will be a new Warden Commander here at the Vigil. I have arranged for you to go to King Alistair’s court, to be apprenticed to his court healer. I am told that he can help you tame your gift and use it rather than you be subject to it.” 

“There is more. You haven’t told me everything yet,” Angharad whispered.

 “Nathaniel is to go to the Marches—” Etienne was shocked to see Angharad’s face go white as paper. “What is it, sirrah?” The Commander asked her.  He was about to touch her arm when she jerked away.

“No, don’t! Don’t touch me,” Angharad begged. “You are sending him to the Marches?  Will he be in Kirkwall?

“Certainly Kirkwall will be a part of the area that his unit will patrol. The Free Marches command is responsible for that entire area. And now, you will tell me why you are so distressed. That is not a request. It is an order!”

“Commander. You are concerned about war between Orlais and Ferelden. But I tell you that this is nothing compared to what is coming for us all. Everything that we believe to be permanent may well be gone forever. “Ce sera un incroyable carnage! The slaughter will be unbelievable.”

“But _what,_ sirrah?  What is coming?” Etienne demanded, though not unkindly. 

“I do not know, my lord. But it begins in Kirkwall, and you have sent Nathaniel into the maelstrom, and I have no assurance that he will survive it. Anders—“

“Would that I had killed Anders,” Etienne growled.

“Justice, not Anders, but no!  He is merely pivot on which all turns. Were he dead, it would be something or someone else. This much I can sense. But he lives and he is destined to go to Kirkwall and to, to—” Angharad stopped. She had no words to explain what she knew. Angharad threw up her hands in frustration.

“Demoiselle, you have demonstrated precisely why you must learn to conquer your talents,” Etienne told her.  

“You think that if I saw more that somehow it could be changed? There are things in the future that may be modified or mitigated a little, but other events are written in stone and will happen. This talent, this _curse,_ torments me with knowledge of terrible things that will happen that I cannot prevent.”

“You misunderstand, Angharad. It is not about prevention. It is about survival. The Wardens know from bitter experience that what you say is true. But, what we cannot prevent, we must survive, sirrah. If we cannot survive, we must give a true account and warning to those who come after us. That is our duty to the Wardens and to the future.” Both of them sat without speaking for a long moment. Then, The Commander said, “You may go, Angharad.”

 “When is Nathaniel leaving for the Marches?”

Etienne did not look up from the report, Nathaniel had given him. “As soon as his passage can be arranged, sirrah. Within the month, certainly.”

“Please do not send me to Denerim until he is gone.” 

Etienne looked up and met her eyes. She saw both humor and empathy there. “Je sais ce que c’est que l’amour.”

 “Merci commandant!”

“De rien.” Etienne replied. “Now go.”

  * \--§



Angharad went in search of Nathaniel. He was in none of his usual places, so she asked among the men but no one seemed to know where he was. At last, one of the tower guards pointed to the high curtain wall that shielded the main portion of the keep. She saw Nathaniel standing there, looking out over the land, his hair blowing in the wind. Angharad climbed the narrow stone steps up to the wall.   

He’d seen her coming and when she was within arm's reach, he held out his hand to her and drew her near. He held her close, her back against his chest, his chin resting on her head as they both looked out at the land lying before them. 

“I don’t want to leave my home, Angharad, particularly since I’ve only just returned. I suppose that I must admit to myself that this land is lost to my family forever now. My ancestors fought for this piece of ground time and again. For the most part we were good stewards and fair to our people. Now, it is gone. It is difficult to believe that it is all gone, but I know it is true.” 

He looked around at the skyline and the fields. “The Free Marches are much warmer, and the hills and valleys are quite green, but it is not home. It can never be home. It is so hard to know that I must leave, anam cara, harder still too know I cannot take you with me.”

Turning her around, Nathaniel tipped her face up to his so that he could see her eyes. He stroked her hair slowly, his eyes with wonder. “I did not expect you, Angharad. I never, in all my imaginings, imagined you. My parents’ marriage was a horror. They hated one another, and they made marriage seem a curse, a necessary evil that I wanted no part of, ever. I did not know that a man and a woman could be close, could be friends, could be happy. Oh, I’d heard the jongleurs’ songs and tales of true love, and I dismissed them all as fables for the ignorant. I never thought of love, and if I thought of marriage at all, I thought of politics, of a union meant to cement an alliance, to bring new property into Howe hands, and to beget an heir. Instead, I believed that I would take pleasure where I found it and not ask for more. I didn’t think to ask for more.”

Angharad made a soft sound like a whimper of pain. Nathaniel kissed her lips as tears began to flow from her eyes. Don’t cry, anwylaf, don’t,”

“How bleak and sad that must have been for you.” Angharad’s voice hitched as she said the words.

Smiling, he brushed a strand of her hair away to kiss her again. He kissed her cheek. “I have been happier in these last weeks than I have ever been in all the years before. I did not know I could be that happy. You gave that to me, love. Remember that when we are parted.”

He held her close for many minutes as her tears fell, kissing her from time to time and whispering endearments. Then, with a sigh, he stepped away from her and said, “Come. We’d best see to our duties. The feast will begin soon.” 

Drying her eyes, Angharad nodded and followed him down the stairs. They separated at the courtyard as Nathaniel went to see to his men, and Angharad went to change her clothing.

  * \--§



When she entered the hall, the tables were crowded with people, eager to feast and be merry. Angharad was able to find a place to sit, and just in time. The herald announced the Commander’s entrance, and all rose as he took his place at table. Conor stood to his right and Nathaniel to his left as the Chantry sister came to lead the prayer of thanksgiving.

Once the prayer had ended, the Commander took his seat and nodded to his steward who called for the food and wine. Musicians began to play as the food was served.

Angharad sat down at the table and waited her turn with the others. The mead made its way to their table, and she drank deep. As emotionally raw as she was this night, it was harder than usual to block out the thoughts, the emotions, and the desires of those around her. Alcohol helped to block the psychic noise.                “You seem distressed, Angharad.” Angharad turned to find an old woman she did not recognize sitting next to her.                “I am weary, dama,” Angharad replied softly.                The old woman smiled slightly, “And heart sore and worried for your love who is going into danger.”                 Angharad noticed that the old woman’s eyes were amber and glowed from an inner fire that was beyond time. Ice brushed Angharad’s spine.

“Asha’bellanar?” Angharad whispered, knowing in her soul that the old woman was the stuff of legends.

The old woman smiled as If Angharad had passed a secret test. Then she looked at the crowd as they feasted and nodded her head. “Some call me that. But then, I’ve had many names.”

“The Witch of the Wilds.”

“Yes.” The witch turned back to Angharad once more and this time her face was stone. “You are right to fear for him, child, for the Dread Wolf will search for him in the Road. Without your intervention, he will find your love and devour him. You love the young Howe?”

“I do, lady. I love him.”

“So what would you give to save him?”

“What I must! There is nothing I would not give.”

“You would give your life for him?”

“I would.”

“That is interesting indeed, Angharad. I wonder if you mean it,” the old woman said as she rose from the table and started to walk away.

“My lady, tell me what I must do to save him,” Angharad begged, catching hold of the old woman’s arm with her hand. Power shot through Angharad, power rocked her body and threw her back, and something old, old, so very old and not completely human moved across her soul. Suddenly, she was in another place and Asha’ bellanar was no longer an old crone, but a woman of power, dressed in magnificent armor and carrying a staff that glowed. The old one’s eyes bored into Angharad’s very soul and read all that was there. Angharad was stripped of every secret and all was laid out for the old one to see. They stood on some cliff in a universe totally alien to Angharad’s sense of reality. Wherever they stood, it was not Thedas.

“Yes, yes. You may do, my girl. You may do. But I warn you the price for a life is a life. If I help you save him, you will owe me. Do you understand and agree?” The old one’s voice was as cold and sharp as a steel blade.

“Yes. My life for his.”

“A life for a life.”

“Yes.”                The old one turned and with a wave of her staff scenes began to pass before Angharad’s eyes. There were flashes of memory, faces, sounds, like a terrible thunderstorm. Riding the whirlwind was a hawk with a red tail, flying high, circling the whirlwind with something clutched in her talons. As she climbed through the storm, she dropped the item she bore. It drifted rather than fell, a scarf, a white scarf and as it fell to earth Angharad saw a symbol in red traces on the cloth.

“When your love goes to the Road, you must go to the City of Chains and find the hawk, the female hawk. It is she who holds the power to save your Warden. You and his sister must convince her to act on his behalf. Find the hawk, find her.” The old one said. “Now, give me your hand on it.”

Angharad held out her hand, and the old one took it. Pain rocked through Angharad, pain so terrible that it blocked out everything. “Remember, my dear, a life for a life.”

The cliff began to buckle underneath Angharad, and the old one began to glow, grow and change until she was no longer human but a dragon. The old one flew high into the orange and purple sky as Angharad fell, and fell, and fell…Angharad came to on the floor. She felt the sickness coming and rushed from the hall.

Outside, in the courtyard, she vomited until there was nothing left in her stomach and still she continued to retch.

Edward, who had been at her table, came outside. “Messer, are you ill?”

Angharad wiped her mouth with her hand. “Mead on an empty stomach.” She managed to say. “Nothing to worry about.” “I’ll be fine. Where’s the old woman?”

 “The old woman? What old woman?”

 “Never mind, Ned. I should know better than to drink on an empty stomach. I’ll be right in.”

Edward hesitated but then nodded and left her. Only then did Angharad look at her left hand, palm upward. Her hand burned painfully. It was too dark in the courtyard to see what was causing the pain, so she walked back into the hall where she there was light. Angharad opened her palm. There, branded into her skin was the symbol she had seen on the scarf.  She slowly made her way back into the hall.

  * \--§



The Warden Commander stood up and took his cup in hand. The hall grew quiet as they waited for him to speak. “My lords, knights and vassals, it is good to be among you again. I bring good news for the arling.  Our good King and Queen, in recognition of our bravery in defending the land against the darkspawn incursion have sent us two new horses, and supplies sufficient enough to see us through the winter and planting in the spring. Please, raise your cups and drink the health of our good King Alistair and his Queen Anora.” Everyone rose.  “To the King and Queen!”All shouted and then they drank.

“And there is more good folk. The Circle of Magi has graciously agreed to send a healer to us, for the King and Queen have invited our apothecary, Angharad, to Court so that she might be apprenticed to the King’s healer. Angharad, come into the hall where we might see you.”

Angharad rose from the table and moved to the center of the hall. She circled the fire pit once so that the assembly could see her and then bowed before the Warden Commander. “My lord?  What is your will?”

“That you should join us, so that we may drink to your good fortune. Come, Angharad.”  He motioned to the bench on Nathaniel’s side of the table. Angharad came to the high table and stood at the empty place. When the assembly raised their cup and drank to her, Angharad bowed, her cheeks red with embarrassment, but she had seen the ceremony enough to know what to do in return, she took the cup in front of her and said. “I ask that you drink the health of the Warden Commander and our Arl. To our liege lord and Arl.” She held up her cup and drank. The hall saluted Etienne and drank as well.  Etienne nodded his head first to her and then to the hall.

“But my good souls, I bring news of a parting as well. Our good Knight Captain and Warden in Charge has been promoted by the Wardens. This is good for Nathaniel, but alas for us, it means that we must say goodbye to him. He is to join the Wardens in the Free Marches. We are sad to lose Nathaniel but also we are happy that he has done so well and earned such honor.”  Etienne set his cup down and embraced Nathaniel formally, kissing each cheek once. “Well done, Nathaniel.” He said, before taking up his cup once more. “To Nathaniel, may he continue to represent the arling with honor!”

The hall saluted Nathaniel with a great deal of enthusiasm. Etienne thought to himself that it was a good thing his friend was an honorable man, for the Arldom would be Nathaniel’s for the taking should he demand it. Given the problems that came with the fief, Etienne wished that circumstances were such that Nathaniel could be released from his oath as a Warden to become the Arl permanently. And had there been better circumstances, Etienne would have suggested to his superiors that it be done.

He believed that the Wardens should be neutral when it came to politics. Being a liege lord demanded political maneuvering as well as military leadership. He could foresee that there would be times when what was necessary for the Grey Wardens’ mission would conflict with what was good for the fief, or what was demanded by the Teryn or King. His Order had been on the dark side of such a conflict many centuries ago in Ferelden, and the nature of the contradiction made a future conflict inevitable. It made sense to return the Arldom to its rightful heir. After all, the Wardens had Soldier’s Peak, an Ancient keep in Ferelden. It was in poor condition but could be refurbished.

However, the history between Nathaniel Howe’s family and the man to whom he would be forced to swear both homage and fealty were bloody. As good a lord as Nathaniel would be, his own liege lord would be Fergus Cousland whose wife, son, and parents were murdered by Nathaniel’s father during the coup d’etat. Trusted neither by his liege nor his King, Nathaniel would be at a serious disadvantage. No. It would not work. Another solution was needed.

Etienne’s thoughts returned to the task at hand. He gestured to the musicians. “And now, everyone, please enjoy the food, the drink and the music.” He sat down. Below them the company made merry. Angharad did her best to eat something.

“Who was the old woman?” Startled Angharad looked into Nathaniel’s eyes as he sat down beside her. “I saw you fall, but you left the hall before I could reach you. Angharad, did she hurt you?”

“I am somewhat shocked that you saw her. I am hurt, but it was my fault entirely.” Angharad replied. “Nathaniel, that was Asha’bellanar—you would call her Flemeth. “

“That was Flemeth? The Witch of the Wilds? I thought that she was dead!” Nathaniel said, thinking of the reports given to the Grey Wardens by the Hero of Ferelden. “What did she say?”

Angharad closed her eyes briefly. “She gave me a warning. And she gave me a solution. And she gave me this.” She turned her hand over for Nathaniel to see.

“Maker’s Breath! That is branded into your hand!”  Nathaniel rolled her fingers back so that he could see the mark. “Oh, Maker, I imagine that hurts like hell-all.”

Angharad withdrew her hand from his, conscious of where they were. “Yes. I made the mistake of touching her. She was kind enough not to kill me. I need to go to my workroom for ointment.” She stepped from the dais and went to her workroom, Nathaniel followed Angharad, indifferent to the gossips. When they reached her workroom, she had Nathaniel hold the door open so that the torchlight from the hall would help her see. Lighting her little oil lamp, she  searched her shelves until she found her jar of numbing ointment.  Nathaniel, who had stepped into the room, took the ointment and rubbed it gently in to her hand.

As he smoothed the ointment into her palm, he said “Are you going to tell me what the witch told you?” 

“She mentioned the Deep Roads and a person I must find to help you. There was nothing clear or straightforward in what she said. But, Nathaniel? You must promise me that you will stay as far away from Kirkwall as you are allowed! I know that you must obey orders, but do not tarry there a moment longer than you must! There is something evil there, and it is awake and hungry.” Angharad told him nothing of the bargain she had made with Asha’bellanar.

“Easier said than done. I must go where I am required to go.” Nathaniel told her firmly. “You know that.” He looked around and took her elbow. “We had better return to the feast unless we wish to inspire even more gossip.” As they walked toward the hall, Nathaniel inquired. “Shall we meet in the solar? You are not too weary?”

“Never!” She declared.

They returned to the great hall. Much later, they met again in the solar.  By then, however, both of them were tired and they simply fell asleep in each other’s arms. When Angharad woke, Nathaniel had already dressed and gone.


	9. Chapter 9

# Chapter Nine

**The Teyrn Visits**

Two days after the Warden Commander’s return, Etienne received a messenger informing him that the Teyrn would be arriving with his retinue within a fortnight. Etienne cursed inwardly, expecting his liege lord to arrive with a large retinue. He knew that his people had just decimated the local game population for the feast to welcome him home, so the foodstuffs the King had so graciously given them were probably going to be consumed by his liege lord. He was shocked when the messenger told him that the Teyrn’s party consisted of just himself and seven men-at-arms, shocked and relieved. The Vigil folk would not be starving this winter after all.

Etienne ordered his gamekeepers to search far afield for game they might hunt during his Teyrn’s visit and reluctantly told his bailiff to collect one sheep, goat, duck, chicken or other small animal from each holding in the Arling. Etienne hated to do it, but they had to have sufficient meat to feed the Teyrn while he was in residence. On his command, his seneschal would keep a record of the animals confiscated and reduce the amount of scutage owed to the arling for each at the next accounting.

The maids were told to make the South Solar ready for the Teyrn’s visit. Angharad watched the parade of women going in and out of the solar and was glad that she had stripped the room a few nights before. _So much for privacy and the comfort of a large bed_. She thought to herself.

The Warden Commander called Nathaniel into his office. “Your departure will have to be postponed, Captain,” he began as he informed Nathaniel of Fergus Cousland’s impending visit.  “I know this will be uncomfortable for you, but I need to you see to his security while he is here.  No one is better equipped to uncover an assassination attempt before it occurs. Double the patrol on the roads until the Teyrn has come and gone, and clear as many of the bandits, marauders, raider,  and ne’er do wells from the Arling as you can,” 

Nathaniel organized overt showy patrols on the roads making certain that word got around that the Arl was doing his best to protect his holding. Planning to take his elite cadre of rangers and assassins out to reconnoiter the usual campsites, hideouts, caves and gullies the bandits were known to frequent, he appeared in Angharad’s workroom the day before and asked to use her equipment to distill fresh poison. “I shall clean everything thoroughly.” He promised.

“Of course, Nathaniel. You will let me observe?””

He smiled at that. “As if I could stop you.”

Nathaniel prepared his ingredients for distillation. Angharad perched high on a tall stool, watched as he worked. She meticulously wrote down the ingredients and the steps he used in her book. Nathaniel explained to her the nature of the poison, its effects, its lethality, the dosage required by approximate weight. He also relayed any antidote that was available. As he worked, he cautioned her never to touch her mouth, nose or eyes while working with the plants and other materials unless she had washed her hands first. Angharad took no offense at his elementary instructions. Meticulous, he left nothing to chance.

 “How will you use the poison, Nathaniel?”

“Arrows tipped in poison bring down your enemy quickly. That means you use fewer arrows with greater effect. At times I will poison my daggers if I can be fairly certain of a clean first strike. Otherwise, it is too easy to be cut by your own blade in an altercation, as you may guess. I’ve yet to administer poison in a cup of wine, but I know the amounts.” Nathaniel explained. 

He spoke with the authority born of experience in the tone of one instructing a bright pupil. Angharad was not shocked by Nathaniel’s matter-of-fact description of his ability to kill other people. She knew that he had been trained from childhood to be a warrior. Nobles’ sons were expected to be good killers; their role in the world demanded it.

When Nathaniel managed to slip into her room unseen later that night, she helped him undress. They sat together on a straw palette Angharad had substituted for her narrow cot.  Slowly, Angharad undid Nathaniel’s wind braids and combed out his hair. When she was finished, she rose and placed the comb on her table. She turned round again to see Nathaniel lying on the palette with his arms under his head and his eyes closed. His body gleamed like purest marble in the candlelight, his muscles and sinew accented by the harsh shadows. The long line formed by his upraised arms, his well-muscled chest, and his lean flank was magnificent.

 “Nathaniel,” she said, leaning over him and running her hand over his skin. “You are so beautiful!”  

He turned his head slightly and chortled. “Beautiful?”

Angharad nodded. “Beautiful.” She whispered and kissed his face, his chest, his shoulders, and his stomach. She sat back on her heels and willfully and with great pleasure, used everything she had learned to drive him to the brink of madness. Angharad then used her own body to control him, to encourage him, and finally to satisfy him, muffling his cry with her kiss.  When he could finally take a breath, Nathaniel drew Angharad into his arms.  “Where did you learn such things? A good, Maker-fearing girl like you?” He teased.

“Oh, I had a wonderful teacher,” She explained. “An archer of great repute, who carries many arrows in his quiver, and uses a mighty bow to shoot. I think he deserves a ballad at least or a bard’s tale.”

Nathaniel started to laugh, and Angharad covered his mouth, trying not to laugh herself. “Nathaniel, shhh, you will bring the entire castle to this room!”

“You didn’t tell me how large his quiver was.” He managed to say at last. Angharad used her hands to show him. They barely contained their laughter.

  * \--§



Nathaniel and his men set out at first light the next morning. They remained in the field for the next ten days, eliminating as many bandit groups as they could find. Running low on arrows and food, they were on their way back to the keep. Nathaniel had two of his men out scouting ahead, when one came back to him on the run.  “Trouble, Captain,” Edward reported breathlessly. “Large party of raiders and slavers engaged in a battle with about eight men. Looks like the Teyrn’s party.”

“Any cover available?” Nathaniel asked.

“Aye and high ground too, Captain.”

Nathaniel signaled his men to gather around him. He divided their remaining arrows equally between the archers. “Any of you know Bryce Cousland’s battle calls?” He asked, referring to the Teyrn’s father. Some of the older men raised their hands. “Good! You men will know when to attack. The rest of you—stay shadowed until these men move. Understood?” The men nodded. “Good. Then let’s circle around. Edward, you and your group go high, stay hidden. James, Gareth, and I will go in and draw their attention. Remember. Cousland battle language.  Let’s hope the Teyrn remembers.” 

They took off on a run. As they drew close, Edward used hand signs to give Nathaniel the position of the raiders before going left to take the high ground above the party. Nathaniel and his two men moved in low and quiet through the brush. 

As they made their way forward, Nathaniel could see that the battle was still in progress.  Though outnumbered three to one, the Teyrn and his men were doing well enough. One of his men was down, and another obviously hampered by an arm wound but still doing his best to shield his master. The attackers looked to be pirates and slavers from the Free Marches, but there were some locals among them as well.  Once Nathaniel and his men were in position, he yelled, “Tok!”

Cousland and his men immediately dropped into defensive posture with shields up as Nathaniel yelled, “Kos!”  He began firing arrows. His men on the hill above began firing as well. The air was suddenly filled with missiles. Although some of the raiders wore heavy plate, most were in light armor, and the arrows struck with deadly efficiency. Before the enemy could react to the incoming fire, Nathaniel yelled. “Reece!” He drew his daggers and rushed in with a blood curdling yell. Cousland and his men immediately sprang back to their feet and began attacking with sword and mace once more.

Edward’s men rushed down from the ridge and attacked the slavers from the flank. Armed with only his daggers, Nathaniel ignored the men in heavy plate and instead ran into one of the enemy dressed in leathers, lifting the man off his feet and onto his back. Nathaniel didn’t need to use his dagger. He brought his heel down swiftly onto the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe before one of his comrades could move to attack him. As the second man drew close, Nathaniel used his left fist, dagger in hand, to strike the raider in the nose, rocking his face backward.  Before the attacker’s head could rebound, Nathaniel brought his right blade up and slashed first the left side of the slaver’s neck, then the right side where his neck and shoulder met. Nathaniel rotated to his right, pulling his razor sharp blade through flesh, nearly decapitating his foe. He ran toward another raider. As he drew close, he caught the sight of movement out of the corner of his eye.

There was a raider coming up on Fergus’s shield side while he was engaged with an opponent in heavy plate, who was swinging a broadsword. The shield, while protecting Fergus, prevented him from seeing the second man.

Nathaniel was too far away to run and catch the man before he attacked the Teyrn, so Nathaniel dropped his dagger to the ground and drew his skinning knife from its sheath at his waist. “COUSLAND--Tok!” He yelled. Fergus dropped to one knee, shield above his head. Nathaniel threw his knife. His throw caught the attacker in his throat. He saw the Teyrn spring back up about the time Nathaniel was thrown to the ground by an attack he didn’t see coming. Nathaniel instinctively tucked his chin forward and took a nasty kick to his face. His helmet partially deflected the blow, but he still saw stars. Rolling to his right, he managed to stand. He still had his off-hand weapon which he transferred to his right hand as he came up, but he couldn’t focus. He heard, rather than saw, his attacker and felt the air move. Nathaniel ducked away from the weapon that passed under his nose by a centimeter or so. He closed in the direction of the sound and stabbed. His dagger met flesh. Nathaniel put all of his weight into the thrust and was satisfied to hear the “whoomph” as his weapon pierced the other man’s diaphragm and heart.

He was still having a hard time focusing when someone else approached. Nathaniel started to attack only to hear. “It’s me, Nate. It’s Ned! It’s over, we’ve succeeded.”

Nathaniel grimaced. Slowly his vision cleared. “The Teyrn. The Teyrn is safe?”  He looked around. The Teyrn was alive, walking toward him, pushing his mailed hood back from his wet hair, wiping away blood and dirt on his face with his hand. Nathaniel was shocked to see Fergus Cousland’s reddish-brown hair streaked of gray and his blue eyes framed with lines, but then Nathaniel hadn’t seen Fergus in more than a decade. As the Tern drew near, Nathaniel could see the combination of weariness, wariness, and cynicism in his eyes that bespoke a man used to combat and command. Their eyes met.

Nathaniel dropped to one knee. “My lord.”  

Fergus motioned him off his knee at the same time he said, “Nathaniel Howe. It’s been some time. You were but a lad the last time I saw you.”

Nathaniel stood and removed his helmet, pushing his own the wet hair back from his face. “Yes, my lord.”  

Fergus looked around at the carnage, examining the armor and weapons of the enemy. “Pirates and slavers. From the Free Marches, no doubt. They’ve been raiding the entire coast, taking advantage of the chaos.”

He and Nathaniel walked toward the prisoners. Nathaniel recognized a face in the group.  He walked up to the man whose hands were secured with rawhide. Nathaniel said, “Hello Harry,” and punched him in the face.

Fergus shouted, “Stop!”

Nathaniel whirled around. “Stop? This man, my lord, is Henry, a deserter from my own guard unit, and this is the second time that this whoreson has tried to kill me!” Nathaniel looked into Henry’s eyes. “Isn’t that right—you puss-filled piece of shite!” Nathaniel leaned closer. “I shall take great pleasure in watching your execution, Harry.”  

“I take your point, Howe, but leave some of him alive for his trial, will you?” Fergus said. “Now, let’s see to our men.”

He and Nathaniel took stock. Two of the Teyrn’s men were dead. Nathaniel’s men were alive, but they had wounded, but none that were too wounded to move. They bandaged and treated as best they could in the field, gathered their weapons, and covered their own dead, while stripping the enemy. “I will send a cart out for our dead, your lordship, but we need to march to the keep. There may be more than one group of raiders about.”

“Very well, Howe.” Fergus sheathed his sword and secured his shield on his back. The men fell into a rough formation, two of Nathaniel’s men on point, Nathaniel and the Teyrn, next, then the Teyrn’s men, the prisoners and Nathaniel’s company taking the rear. As they walked, the Teyrn asked, “Why were you in the field today?

“We’ve been killing bandits, smugglers, slavers and other criminals for days in anticipation of your visit. Clearly, we could have used another week of killing. I am glad you remembered your father’s battle commands.”

Fergus chuckled. “We’re still using his commands. I suppose that I should change them.”

“Not on my account, my lord. I am soon to leave the Vigil and do not expect to return. Still, there are many in this Arling who are not happy with the changes that have taken place. It would be wise to use words only those you trust know.”

Fergus laughed aloud at that. “If I only shared battle calls with those I trusted, Howe, I should have no one on the field save my sister. And as to people unhappy with the change, after almost a week in Amaranthine, I can attest that you are correct. Certainly, very few are happy with an Arl who is Orlesian.”

“Etienne Caron is a good man, and a fine leader,” Nathaniel said, loyal to the man who spared his life and helped him find purpose.

“The Warden Commander himself suggested that someone not Orlesian should be named as Commander of this garrison, Howe, not me. He knows the political consequences of his appointment. I wish the politics of the time were different, but things are as they are, and we are very close to war with Orlais. Particularly, if things become worse between Empress Celene and her cousin, Gaspard.”

“So I’ve heard,” Nathaniel replied tersely.

“War with Orlais doesn’t concern you?” Fergus asked.

“I am a Grey Warden. My concerns are darkspawn, archdemons, and their destruction,”

“There aren’t very many of those about, Howe. The Hero of Ferelden, the Commander, and you have pretty well eliminated them for the moment.” Fergus replied noncommittally.

“They will be back, my lord.”

They continued to walk in silence. Finally, the towers of the Vigil appeared in the distance and an hour later, they were walking into the exterior courtyard.

  * \--§



The tower guards had already informed the Warden Commander of the company’s approach.  Word spread that there appeared to be wounded, so Angharad set out her things in her workroom, took up her medicine bag, and went down to the courtyard.

When Angharad saw the livid bruise on Nathaniel’s face, her first instinct was to run to him. But it was clear that there were soldiers who needed more immediate attention. “Who among you are still bleeding from wounds?” She announced in a loud firm voice.  As the soldiers’ hands went up, she moved to examine them. One of the soldiers required stitches, but the rest of the lacerations would do with cleaning and bandaging. “Anyone have a broken bone? Seeing stars, sick to stomach?  Cold? Sweaty?” She shouted out. There were no takers.

Angharad turned to the women. “Helen, Miriam, take these men to my workroom and clean their wounds as I’ve shown you.” 

The young woman who needed stitching, she sent with the ladies, telling her. “I shall be with you in moments to repair that forearm, sirrah. Keep pressure on that cut until I arrive.”

Angharad turned to the Teyrn and examined his cut. The flesh over his right eye was split open. Despite the blood, the wound was small. He was in no danger of shock, but the blood flowing into his eye had to be annoying. In a low voice, she asked, “My lord, would you prefer that I attend to your wound before the formal welcome or would you have it the other way  ‘round?” 

The Teyrn gave her an easy grin. “See to the soldiers first. I’ll tend to the formalities and then you may mend me, sirrah.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Angharad said stepping back. She gave a barely noticeable signal and the gate was opened. The Warden Commander came out to embrace his lord and welcome him formally to the keep. Angharad slipped inside and went to her workroom.

Helen and Miriam had done an excellent job of cleaning and bandaging the soldiers’ wounds. Over the weeks since her elevation to castle surgeon, Angharad had worked with all the women to train them in proper wound care. If there were to be a major battle, Angharad had to have additional hands that could help with first aid and triage. Miriam and Helen were the two women who seemed most interested and most capable. With the Warden Commander’s permission, she was instructing them beyond basic first aid.

The woman with the nasty forearm cut looked to be about twenty-two or so. Angharad thoroughly cleaned the wound while her needle and thread disinfected. By the time she was ready to close the wound, the Teyrn had appeared in the workroom. Obviously, the Warden Commander had hurried the formal ceremonies so that the Teyrn could be repaired. 

“Wait.” The Teyrn commanded as Angharad started to take up her needle. Before she could say anything, the Teyrn put a small package in her hand. “The Warden Commander asked me to bring these to you. It seems as though he’d forgotten to give them to you on his return from the Landsmeet.”

Angharad opened the package which was wrapped in paper coated with wax. Inside were five needles, made of steel, in various sizes. She gasped in delight. “Maker be praised! Helen, Miriam, look at these!” 

The ladies gathered around to stare in awe at the well crafted steel needles. A woman guarded her needles with her life, particularly if they were iron or steel. Metal needles were ridiculously expensive to purchase and almost impossible to obtain anywhere save a large city or trading port. Angharad placed the new needles in the antiseptic water, and then took one out that she thought would best suit the wound on the soldier’s arm.

Wordlessly, Angharad held out the flask of strong waters, or whiskey, and told the soldier, “Drink deep.” When the woman had done so, Helen and Miriam moved to her side to help her hold the arm still, but the young woman did not need their assistance. She took a deep breath and held out her arm. Though tears dripped from her cheeks as Angharad worked, the young woman neither flinched nor cried out.

“Well done, soldier,” the Teyrn said when Angharad finished.

“Thank you my lord,” the woman responded with a grin.

Angharad handed her the flask, knowing that the pride would wear off, and the pain would still be there. “Take another drink. It will help!”

The soldier took a healthy swig of the whiskey and hopped down from the table.  Only a small stumble betrayed the effect of the alcohol. She took her equipment and left the room.

“And now, m’lord, if you will sit on the stool.” Angharad began. “I think you are too tall for the table.”  

Fergus sat down on the stool as commanded and submitted with wry amusement to Angharad’s ministrations. He’d been bandaged more than once in his lifetime, but seldom, if ever had anyone taken such care with cleaning the wound. Curious, for he was an intelligent man who liked to know the “why” of things, he asked, “What purpose does it serve to wash the open cut so well?”

Angharad continued to clean the wound. “I am not certain why it works, messer, but I have found that wounds that are clean are less prone to infection than those that are dirty.”  She studied the cut for a moment. Angharad used an herb that she had ground to a fine paste in the cut. Holding edges of the cut together, she pressed tight. “In fact, I have found that the cleaner everything is, the less likelihood of infection.” 

The Teyrn flinched a little at the tight pressure with which she held the wound closed.

“Hold still.” Angharad said quietly. She nodded to Helen and Miriam. “You two may go, and thank you for your help.” Angharad waited a moment longer and then released her grip. “There. Good. We can do without the stitches, I think. Your wife will be pleased.” Angharad felt the flash of pain that Fergus felt at her words. She withdrew her hands, but too late. She knew that all was not well with the Teyrn and his new wife.

“I doubt my wife will notice.” Fergus said in an attempt to be offhand and matter of fact.

Angharad could hear the undertone of unhappiness. She gathered her things together as she replied. “I have no doubt that she has noticed, my lord. You are much too handsome to be ignored by any woman. But given the fact that your marriage was made for political reasons, perhaps she is unsure if you would welcome her affection for you.”

“And what would you know of that?” Fergus asked her, somewhat annoyed at her temerity, yet finding himself in the curious situation of wanting to continue the conversation.

“I know what it is to be unsure of one’s ability to attract and hold the attention of a man you find handsome. A woman can seem cold when she is merely shy. And as I recall, your wife is older than is usual. Perhaps she feels unwanted.”

Angharad hesitated to turn around, afraid that she had angered the Teyrn. But when she did face him again, the Teyrn was lost in thought. Feeling Angharad’s gaze, he said looked at her and said, “Her father offered me the younger girl.” He laughed and looked down at the ground. “A child of no more than 13 years. A child! I didn’t want that. I wanted a woman, not a child. And Petra seemed likeable.”

“Then tell her that, m’lord. You should tell your lady that you chose her.”

Fergus shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps.”

Angharad pondered for a moment, then she turned to her shelves and took down a piece of soap. It was a large piece. Angharad sniffed the soap and smiled. “Here, messer.  For your lady.” She said, giving him the bar of soap.

Fergus was about to say something rather rude but then he caught the scent of the soap. Bringing it up to his face, he inhaled the scent. Looking puzzled, he stared at Angharad and said, “It smells like her.”

 “Does it, my lord? Strange coincidence, but it is nice that you smelled the soap and remembered it as her favorite. I hope she enjoys it.” In a more businesslike tone she added, “I believe the seneschal’s wife is waiting in the solar to tend to your bath. Try to keep your wound dry if you can. You will have better healing.”

Angharad curtsied deeply as Fergus left the workroom.

 


	10. Chapter 10

# Chapter Ten

**The Vigil**

The next three days were very hectic. There was feasting and then hunting and more feasting. On the last day, the Teyrn held court and sentenced the raiders and Henry to death by hanging. The sentence was carried out immediately. Nathaniel did watch Henry hang, although by then his blood had cooled, and it was not the pleasure he envisioned. Still, Nathaniel knew he had to witness it. Every soldier in the Arl’s service needed to understand that there was a terrible price to be paid for desertion. They also needed to understand that Nathaniel or whomever else was in command had the stones to see that a deserter was brought to justice.

Fortunately, the hunting had been good, so the final feast did not lack for meat. Cook had saved back some of her rarer spices and the best honey for this last meal. Jongleurs arrived from Amaranthine to provide fresh entertainment, promising singing and stories. Etienne held back the entertainment until everyone had finished their meal. It was difficult to hear even the loudest of storytellers over the crash and clank of pottery.

The jongleur recited the tale of the Hero of Ferelden, a popular choice for people who were still giddy with relief over their rescue from the Blight. It amused Etienne that the Hero grew taller with each telling and his skill more deadly. He was certain that in a century, no one would remember that three other courageous souls climbed the tower in Denerim to bring the Archdemon down. Neither would anyone remember the Ferelden Warden with an Orlesian accent who wounded the dragon mid-flight before being thrown to his death. Riordan’s sacrifice made the tower battle possible. No, in a century, the Hero would stand alone; facing the Archdemon with nothing put his mighty weapon. Such was the way of things. Tales became legends, and legends became myths.

When the tale had ended, and the teller rewarded suitably, Fergus rose to his feet. “My people, I wish to thank you all this night for your gracious hospitality. Though there are still signs of the terrible siege you suffered here, there are also signs of great progress in rebuilding your lives and your home. For this, we all have to thank our Warden Commander who has seen so well to the needs of this Arling.” Fergus nodded his head to the Arl, but turned immediately back to the company in the hall. “But there is someone else whom I wish to acknowledge this night. Captain Nathaniel Howe, please come forth.” Fergus said loudly.

Surprised, and rather anxious, Nathaniel came into the center of the hall and walked toward the high table. He bowed to the Teyrn and then to the Arl. “My lords.” 

Fergus looked him over briefly and smiled. He pitched his voice loudly enough to carry the hall. “Nathaniel Howe. Less than a week ago, you saved my life, and you risked your own to do so.”

  Fergus pointed to the brightly colored bruise that Nathaniel still sported on his face.”As your face bears witness, I might add. Please kneel, Captain Howe.”

When Nathaniel kneeled down, Fergus came round the table to stand beside him.  Holding out a scroll adorned with many wax seals, Fergus said to one and all, “Here is the patent to a fief in the Arldom of Amaranthine. The boundaries are described in the patent, but I assure you, it is good land, well-watered and has a portion of the coastline. It is yours, Captain, as a token of my gratitude.”

Nathaniel took the patent in hand but did not rise. Instead he looked up at the Teyrn. “I thank you my lord, but I cannot accept this gift. I am sworn to the Wardens, an oath I must uphold above all others. It would be wrong of me to accept this land knowing that I could not take the homage oath that went with it in good conscience.”

Fergus gave Etienne a knowing look before turning back to Nathaniel and saying, “Then accept it in the name of your nephew. When he comes of age, he may take possession and offer homage. Choose someone to administer the estate until that time, and tell your sister that her son is welcome to come and be fostered by me when he is older.”

Nathaniel rose and nodded his head. “Yes my lord, thank you.”

The hall cheered mightily as the two men face each other, only the two of them and perhaps the Warden Commander understanding completely what had occurred. With one plot of land, Fergus Cousland had rewarded Nathaniel, had wrung a public admission from the younger man that he would never be the rightful Arl, and secured Nathaniel’s good behavior by offering to foster his nephew, which meant that Delilah’s son would spend many years in Fergus’ court and be within his reach that entire time. Nathaniel grinned and said in a lower tone that only Fergus could hear, “That was well played, messer. Your father would have been very proud.”

“Not to worry, Howe. I am not a vengeful man. Your nephew will be well-trained and well treated. I swear it,” Fergus said.

“Thank you my lord,” Nathaniel replied.

Later that night, when he and Angharad lay together in her room, he explained the subtle machinations of the politicking that had taken place.

“He seems a good man, though a sad one.” Angharad smoothed Nathaniel’s hair back as she spoke. 

Nathaniel’s eyes had closed in pleasure at the touch of Angharad’s hands. Now, he opened them, gazing into hers. “That is good because I shall not be here to see to my nephew’s safety. We had a message this morning that a ship was in port bound for Kirkwall. The Warden Commander has sent word to hold the ship so that I may take passage on it.”

Angharad slipped down beside him and buried her face in his chest so that he would not see her sadness. Nathaniel held her close.

“Angharad. Don’t fear. We will be together again,” he said softly, before kissing her lips.  Without speaking, they began to make love, slowly, with tenderness, drawing things out to make the moment last, to somehow stop time.   

  * \--§



The Teyrn and his men departed at dawn then next morning. Once they were gone, Etienne called Angharad into his office. “Sit down, Angharad. Nathaniel leaves tomorrow for Amaranthine. I want you to ride with him there.” He took out a pouch of coin and put it on the desk. “You are going to Court as our Apothecary and Surgeon. You must be appropriately attired, or we shall be seen as diminished in the eyes of the seigneurs who attend the King and Queen. In Amaranthine, you should be able to buy good-quality material and have clothing made for yourself.”

Angharad started to protest, but Etienne shook his head. “No discussion, demoiselle. This is not a suggestion. It is an order. You must have good clothing for Court. And be sure to purchase fine wool for your undershifts and a warm fur lined cloak. Denerim is incredibly cold in winter as I recall, and you will be miserable otherwise. Oh, and good boots! There is a great deal of mud.”

Angharad took the pouch, trying not to show her surprise at the weight of the purse. “Am I to return to the Vigil?” She asked, tucking it away.

Etienne shook his head. “No, Mervis informs me that he has a caravan leaving from the City for Denerim at the end of the month. I have promised him escort, so you will ride with them. That should allow enough time for the sewing if you pay extra. Even then, it will be economical, no? And you will be busy and thinking of what is to come instead of what is past. So. It is time to gather your things. You will be leaving early in the morning.”

Word spread quickly around the Vigil, and as the day progressed, Angharad was shocked by the number of people who stopped her to say goodbye and wish her well. As she packed up her meager personal items in the workroom, people ranging from kitchen maids, to knights and their ladies came by. Even Tomas paid his respects.

“I have something for you, sirrah,” He told her. In his upheld hand was an exquisite knife, small, single edged and wickedly sharp. He also held two fine leather sheaths. “This one is for your waist. You may use it for that little beauty.” Then he gave her a second sheath. “This sheath straps to your forearm, like so.” He quickly strapped the sheath on her arm. “This one you can hide beneath a sleeve and use it to strike when your enemy may think you unarmed. You must promise to practice with it.”

Angharad nodded, “I will, I promise.”

“May the Maker watch over you, lass,” he finished and left without further word.

“And you, Tomas,” Angharad whispered, breaking into tears for the first time that day.

She continued to pack her things, her notebooks, her mortar and pestle, and other potion making equipment. She packed some of the remedies she had made and some herbs she had dried; but for the most part, she left the supplies for the healer who was coming from the Circle to take her place. Angharad could not resist taking her favorite soap, however, and some of the oil with which to make it. _Who knew if they had such flowers in Denerim this late in the season?_ She thought.

In all, her things fit into two wicker chests. It occurred to her that she had been at the Vigil for almost half of her life, and she had two baskets, and two scars to show for it. But she also had Nathaniel, at least for a little while. And she had been happy. She put a smile on her face and went in search of someone to load her baskets into the cart.

That last night, in accordance with a long-standing tradition, the men of Nathaniel’s cadre got him drunk. They got him stumbling, singing, wobbling, puking, passed-out-under-the-table drunk. Surprisingly, he was, at least until his body hit the floor, a happy drunk, teasing her, singing songs and encouraging everyone else to join him in ribald rhyme recitations. Once his body hit the floor, however, he was a quiet drunk. Assuring herself that he was still breathing, she left him on the floor as the others continued to celebrate. In the end, when Edward asked her in an inebriated voice where they should put him Angharad replied, “Put him in his bed in the barracks and let him sleep it off there.”

Edward gave her a very sloppy salute, and he and the other men hauled Nathaniel away.

Angharad started to leave the hall, but Etienne gestured for her to come up to the high table. “Sit, Angharad.” 

“My lord, please forgive me, but if you tell me to sit one more time—I feel like a Mabari.” Angharad began, but was cut off by Etienne’s laughter. It was then she realized that the Warden Commander was not exactly sober either. _Men_ , she thought to herself.

As if he could read her thoughts he said, “Yes, I am drunk, but no one will have to carry me to the barracks. I only wanted to say that it has been a pleasure to know you, Angharad. By the time you return to the Vigil, I shall be long gone. I wanted to say farewell tonight as I doubt I shall be awake in the morning to see you off. “

“Are they going to let you go home for a time?” Angharad asked him.

Etienne shook his head. “No. I must go directly to Weisshaupt. But Giselle is going to join me.”

“Ah, I am glad for you, Commander. Maker turn his gaze on you and your lady and see you both safe on your journeys.”

“And you, demoiselle. Be well. Now go. You have a long trip tomorrow. Someone in the party needs to have full use of their faculties!” He laughed.

Angharad curtsied and left the hall.

  * \--§



Nathaniel, Edward and James were quiet as they began the journey to the city. Angharad recognized it as the silence of those for whom any noise would be agony. She tested her theory by _accidentally_ dropping the pewter water dipper against the seat. The men jumped and groaned in perfect unison. It took all she had not to laugh as they rode along. _Serves them right!_ She thought merrily to herself. But she took pity on them by silently handing each of them a pain potion to down. By middas, they had revived enough to eat, and by the time they’d reach Amaranthine’s gates, Nathaniel had recovered enough to greet his sister when she called out “Nathaniel,” happily and hugged him tight.

“Delilah.” Nathaniel began, but before he could say anything more, Delilah turned to Angharad and hugged her tight as well. “Angharad, it is so good to see you! Come in, come in!”  To her brother, she said, “Nathaniel bring your men and come inside.”

Edward and James both begged off. “Thank you, but we have an appointment elsewhere, mistress.” They turned to Nathaniel, shook his hand, and thumped his back in farewell. Edward came over to Angharad, and shyly took her hand, nodding over it. Angharad, overwhelmed, hugged him, causing him to blush. James, less shy than Edward, hugged her tight. “Fare you well, Saga. Maker turn his gaze on you.”

“And you,” Angharad said to them both, patting each one’s cheek. “And now you’d better hurry on for a hair of the dog.” They laughed, and brought Nathaniel’s and Angharad’s thing down to Delilah’s before going on their way.

Delilah lost her smile. “What is this, Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel met her worried gaze. “I’ve been posted to the Free Marches.”

“Oh Maker, not again.” Delilah turned and took hold of one of their baskets. “Come, let us go inside, and you can tell me all.”

They picked up their things and made their way inside Delilah’s home. The shop and house were small but comfortable and inviting. Delilah placed one of the baskets near the wall and pointed. “Put your things there. Now, sit down and tell me what is going on.”

They gathered round her kitchen table as Nathaniel explained all that had occurred. When Nathaniel gave her the patent for the land, Delilah’s hands trembled a little. “Nathaniel, I do not know what to say or do. This largesse from Teyrn Cousland is both unexpected and troublesome. Do you truly trust him to keep his word?”

Nathaniel’s grey eyes were thoughtful. Brother and sister exchanged looks. A lifetime of being raised to consider any gift in light of its political ramifications made both of them suspect the Teyrn’s motives.

Finally Nathaniel said, “I honestly believe that Fergus will keep his word. The question, Delilah, is whether or not you want that life again. Are you willing to send Liam to be fostered? It also depend on you economic situation?  Is the shop doing well?”

“Well enough.” Delilah replied. “It is hard now that Albert is gone, but Liam and I are managing. He is with his papa’s parents today.”

“Well, you must decide, how to proceed on this. If you decide to take the land, then we must find someone to manage it for you—”

“Oh, I can manage the land, Nathaniel. Who do you think kept the Vigil limping along when Father was in Denerim, and Thomas was drinking himself to death? No, the sole issue is whether or not it is right for my son. I shall have to think on it” Delilah turned toward Angharad. And what of you? What brings you to Amaranthine?” She asked, taking hold of her hands.

“I am called to the King’s court to be apprenticed to his healer. The Warden Commander has instructed me to buy cloth and to have gowns made suitable for court, but I have no idea as to what those may be and where to find seamstresses.”

Delilah laughed at that. “Oh that will be easy for I know every fabric merchant and seamstress in the City. We’ll deal with that issue soon enough. But you will need shoes as well and good boots. Denerim is quite muddy.”

Nathaniel caught Angharad’s eyes with his and he smiled. “What’s this?” Delilah asked with a smile. “Are you two—”

“Very happy. At least, we were,” Nathaniel replied.

“You will be again, I am certain of it. Where are you staying?”

“I-I do not know. I know little of Amaranthine.”

“The Crown and Lion is clean enough and they should have rooms.”

“Good idea. We’d best go there straight away and see,” Nathaniel said.

Delilah smiled up at him. “Why not leave your things here until you discover whether or not they can accommodate you. And return for supper, there’s no need to pay the Crown for a meal.”

“Thank you, Sister,” Nathaniel said. “Come Angharad.”

Delilah tried not to smile at Nathaniel’s proprietary tone and Angharad’s unusually meek acceptance of it. It had been a long time since she’d felt such feelings for a man, but she understood. There were times when it felt good to have a man lead you, provided the man was worth following. Delilah was certain that her brother was such a man, and she was glad of it.  She stared after the two of them until they vanished up the staircase that led to the Crown. With a small sigh, she returned to her work.

The Crown and Lion did indeed have rooms for the night. Angharad’s room had a place to bathe, so she paid the extra coin to have hot water brought up. 

There were still some hours of daylight left, so Nathaniel took Angharad on a short tour of the city. He took her to where the nobles lived and pointed out where The Bann had resided before her demise during the Siege. They toured the Chantry of our Lady the Redeemer a stopping place for all Pilgrims who were retracing the journey of Andraste. She and Nathaniel climbed the battlements that overlooked the city. Nathaniel pointed out his sister’s home, the Crown and Lion and other landmarks. The city still bore scars from the Darkspawn attacks, but rebuilding was proceeding at a good pace.  “You’ve been here many times, I take it,” Angharad said to Nathaniel, standing arm in arm with him.

“My father preferred his residence here in town to the Vigil. You know how cold the Keep can be in winter, even in the manor house. Yes, I’ve spent many days here.”

“My home was my parent’s covered cart,” Angharad said happily. “It was the size of a Dalish land ship, though drawn by draft horses, not Halla. My first bed was a hammock hung from the rafters. It would sway as the cart moved. I can barely remember lying in it, surrounded by the smell of mama’s herbs and oils. There were times when I would awaken at night to the sound of mama and papa talking in low voices to one another as they lay in their bed below me.  I knew that all was well.” Angharad looked out toward the sea and continued. “We often traveled alone, were forced to travel alone in order to get to the next town or keep. But there were also times when we were invited to fall in with this group or that one on the road. At those times, I could play with other children after supper and chores. And there would often be singing or dancing.”

“Not a bad life,” Nathaniel said, wrapping his arms around Angharad and resting his chin on her head.

Angharad leaned back against his chest. “A good life. It was fine. I miss the freedom at times.” Angharad realized that the sun was ready to set. She turned and took Nathaniel’s hand. “Where can we purchase a good wine for your sister’s table?”

“Back to the Crown and Lion. They have decent drink there.”

They bought a flagon of wine and one of hard cider for the meal and headed back to Delilah’s house. By then Liam was home from his grandparents’ home and eager to see his uncle. Somewhat in awe of the stories of Nathaniel told by the people in the Arling, Liam was keen to have his uncle instruct him in archery. Nathaniel took the lad outside before the light faded and he worked on Liam’s technique.

Once they had privacy, Delilah asked, “Why are you not going with Nathaniel to the Free Marches?”

“I am certain that the order truly wishes for me to gain more training in the healing arts, but I also suspect that they would like to see our relationship cool.” She said matter-of-factly.

“You are a warden, then?” Delilah asked her, talking over her shoulder as she finished the meal preparation.

“No.  But I am bound by the debt I owe the wardens to serve them for a time. During the siege of the keep, they literally saved my life more than once.”

Delilah replied, “No doubt because you were in the midst of the battle treating the wounded. Still, I understand why you would feel indebted. You love my brother?”

Angharad smiled. “Oh yes. Very much.”

“And he is kind to you?” 

“Oh yes. He is a good man and very tender.”

Delilah smiled at that. She handed the bowls to Angharad for the table and laid out her best spoons. The two women worked in silence while making all ready for the meal.  Delilah went to the door to call Nathaniel and Liam into the house, but before she did so, she said, “Angharad. Come to stay with me when Nathaniel leaves tomorrow. I don’t like to think of you alone in the city. And, it will be easier for us to create a wardrobe for you.”

“You are certain?”

“Of course. You are my friend, and you are my brother’s choice. That is quite clear to me. You are welcome to stay in my home, Angharad.”

“Thank you.”

Delilah called Nathaniel and Liam in to eat.

The evening was, for the most part, merry. Nathaniel and Delilah teased one another as siblings do, while Liam did his best to glean every bit of information about his uncle’s adventures. Nathaniel was even forced to show Liam the scar left from the wound Angharad repaired. Delilah flinched a little at the sight, but Liam saw only the glory of having such a battle scar to display. Angharad helped Delilah clean up after the meal while Nathaniel and Liam played a game of chess. Once the game was over, Nathaniel and Angharad said good night and walked toward the Crown and Lion.

“Your sister has invited me to stay with her when you leave, Nathaniel,” Angharad told him as they walked up the stairs to the inn.

“That is good. I was concerned about your being alone in the city.” 

When they reached the inn, Nathaniel and Angharad went to their separate rooms.  Moments later, though, Nathaniel was slipping silently into hers. Angharad had her back to him and Nathaniel crept toward her only to be met with a whirl of her skirt and a little knife pressed to his throat. He grinned and backed away as she lowered the knife. “Better, Angharad.  Much better. Keep practicing.”

Angharad tested the water in the large tub. It was cool but not cold. “Come, Nathaniel.  Let me undress you and we will bathe.” She said, pulling at this shirt. 

“I washed before we went to supper. Surely I am clean enough,” Nathaniel teased.

“I want to tend to you, Nathaniel,” Angharad said seriously.

He undressed himself and watched with great delight as Angharad did the same.  She stepped into the large round tub, and sat down, holding her arms out to him. Nathaniel turned around and sat down between Angharad’s legs, leaning back against her body. Angharad used a cup to pour the cool water over him. She washed him slowly, using her fingers to draw the soap through his hair using her hands to carry the lather over his back and belly. There was little talking between them, merely the sound of the splashing water and Nathaniel’s breathing. Angharad was absorbed in memorizing everything she could about him through her skin and fingertips. 

For Nathaniel her touch was blissful torment. Angharad brushed his hands away and whispered, “Be still,” to him as she washed and rinsed. He did his best to obey her, but finally, he could take no more and twisted in her arms so that they were facing one another. He pulled her onto his lap and began an exploration of his own. He used his tongue and teeth to bring gooseflesh to her skin. His tongue teased the inside flesh of her elbow, and he was gratified to hear her quick inhale and feel the involuntary arch of her hips as he did so. His mouth found her breast and he feasted there, savoring the texture and taste of her skin. Still, they were silent except for their hurried breathing and soft sounds of pleasure as they took one another. Somehow they managed to find the bed.

Much later, they lay in each other’s arms, unwilling to let sleep claim them. 

“Write often, Angharad. I will be in the field, but when I return to the barracks, it would gladden me to find your letters waiting.”

“I will,” Angharad promised. She did not make him promise the same. Nathaniel was a man of few words, and she knew that. “You will let me know that you are alive from time to time?”   

“I will. Be careful of Anora, Angharad. She is her father’s daughter through and through. I’ve not met our King, but I know the Queen well enough. She does not forget, and she does not forgive.” Nathaniel hugged Angharad tight. “Be well, my love. Please be well.”

They continued to talk until it was time to dress. Nathaniel slipped back to his room and then met her downstairs in the inn. They walked in silence to Delilah’s house where Nathaniel retrieved his things. Delilah and Liam were up and waiting to go with them to the port side of the city. 

In silence, the four of them walked the empty streets to the ship that was to carry Nathaniel away. The captain and his men had loaded their cargo. Seeing Nathaniel and the rest, he yelled, “Say your goodbyes, man, and get on board. We must hurry if we are to catch the tide.”

Nathaniel turned to his sister and hugged her. He knelt in front of Liam, and chucked him under the chin, saying, “Take care of your mother, lad. And keep working with that bow.” 

Liam nodded. Nathaniel rose back up and faced Angharad. He held out his arms to her and she rushed into them holding back her tears.

“Take care, anam cara. Please. I love you, Nathaniel,” Angharad whispered.

Nathaniel cupped her face in his hands and kissed Angharad one last time. “Maker keep you. Love of my life, you are, Angharad.” Then Nathaniel turned, picked up his gear, and stepped on board the ship.

The captain called out orders and the sailors unfurled the mainsail as the rest hauled in the lines and pushed away from the dock. As the sun rose, the ship slowly pulled farther out into the harbor and headed toward the open sea. Angharad watched the ship sail until she could no longer see Nathaniel on deck and then she slowly walked away.

When Nathaniel could no longer see the dock, he picked up his bag. A quick whiff of fragrance caught his attention and he opened the drawstring a little. There, lying on top of his clothing was a piece of Angharad’s favorite soap. Nathaniel smiled and held it briefly to his nose before putting it carefully back in his bag once more.

 

**End – Book One**

 


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